War and Lace
by Chriss Corkscrew
Summary: Kitty Bennett experiences society and society experiences Kitty Bennett. This story tells of her romantic trials, tribulations and triumphs. Winner of 'Most Historically Accurate' award and nominated for 'Best Story' in the 2005 Austen Awards. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace**

Act One: Rosings

A state of affairs that every new bride must face is that not only does she gain a new husband, but that she must also inherit a family.

Thus it came to be that Elizabeth Bennett spent her first autumn as Mrs. Darcy firmly closeted at Rosings Park keeping company with her husband's family and dearly wishing she was almost anywhere else.

The company assembled was not one which suited her tastes. Lady Catherine, condescending to the point of nausea to the new niece she considered beneath her, Miss De Bourgh, Mr Collins, who, torn between his cousin, so elevated in status, and his benefactress barely seemed to be able to complete a sentence anymore without flinching and, worst of all, Major-General Fitzwilliam. This was not the Colonel Fitzwilliam who was Darcy's cousin, a man Elizabeth admired and liked very much. He was currently away fighting the French. Instead it had fallen to Lady Catherine's youngest brother, the uncle of Mr Darcy, to be on leave for the duration of their visit. Major-General John Fitzwilliam was a seasoned warhorse, dark-haired and white-bearded, and, at 42 a confirmed bachelor, married to the army. He was the most insufferable bore Elizabeth had ever met.

With the company of her husband, new sister, Georgiana and her dearest friend, Charlotte, she was at least more fortunate. The news that there were still more friends to add to the company, namely Maria Lucas and her own sister, Kitty, who were coming to stay with the Collin's at the Parsonage in the first week of October, brought yet more solace and allowed her to meet several long days at Rosings Park with her tongue between her teeth and greater forbearance than hither to whilst she waited for the fateful day when she might be able to laugh a little and speak of fancies and fun with the younger ladies.

Today was a typical day. Cosseted in the south-facing sitting room, Lady Catherine was holding forth on the correct manner of stitching drapery in grand houses, a veiled-insult as she inferred that Elizabeth would have no experience of such things and should not be blamed for her ignorance in such matters, having come from such a modest estate. On the far side of the room, Major-General Fitzwilliam was fighting the Battle of Canopus again for poor Darcy. She could only presume that her husband had inadvisably made an innocuous remark about the war on the continent, a certain way of setting the man off on every major conflict since he had first fought in the army. As he had only just reached the Egyptian campaign at the turn of the century she was sure he was set to continue throughout the afternoon, dinner and evening without releasing his captive audience for a moment.

As Lady Catherine droned on to her right, and the Major-General droned on across the room, she exchanged long suffering glances with Charlotte and wilted in the stuffy room. Willing the clock to chime, she counted away the minutes, longing for the day to come that would bring their new arrivals to Rosings in a blaze of gossip and chatter. . .

. . .And as Kitty wittered on about the unfairness of sharing a carriage with six other people and how she should not have been forced to sit backwards which always made her feel ill and how the dreadful man sitting next to her was fully sitting over her share of the bench and quite crushed her bonnet, she despaired. Looking to the long-suffering Maria, pale and wan after several hours of this relentless complaining, her heart went out to her. Here at least was some welcome company.

Determined to create at least a brief respite from the direness of the assembled company, Elizabeth looked to the guests. Lady Catherine was more than content fussing over Anne whilst Mr. Collins fussed over her. If she could only free her husband from the iron grip of the Major-General, she, Georgiana, Charlotte and Maria might have some brief respite from the three-sided onslaught.

Turning back to Kitty, she had a sudden thought. "Have you spoken with Major-General Fitzwilliam yet?" she inquired politely.

"No." Kitty looked offended, "I was still describing the terribly rude woman who kept talking and talking and talking the whole journey here. Quite interrupting me all the time and─,"

"I had better introduce you properly," Elizabeth stood, bobbed a curtsey to Lady De Bourgh and conveyed her sister across the room, "I know you still have quite a fondness for soldiers, and the Major-General has such interesting stories of the war that I'm sure you'll become great friends."

Arriving at the corner where her husband sat, glassy-eyed, in thrall to the Major-General's constant monologue, she gave a great smile and stopped the man mid-flow. As the gentlemen rose, she seized the initiative and gave Kitty a little push forward.

"Major-General Fitzwilliam, my sister, Miss Bennett, is such an admirer of the sterling work of our country's army in routing Napoleon, I thought you would very much welcome the opportunity to instruct her further in it."

As he opened his mouth, presumably to politely decline; a soldier of his rank having no inclination to school what he could only call a 'young gel' in the arts of war, Elizabeth continued firmly, "And if I could steal away my husband for a short while, I believe Miss Lucas has a message for him from her father, the Lord." With that she determinedly took the arm of her husband and steered him away and towards the pianoforte where Georgiana, Charlotte and Maria had already convened and were eying proceedings with no little amusement.

Standing awkwardly for a long moment, the Major-General, little used to young ladies of the gentry, finally invited her to sit. Perching on the edge of the fussy, over-cushioned settee, he harrumphed uncomfortably and poured himself a generous measure of port, his crimson cheeks a testament that he'd already drunk more than his fill. "I take it that young ladies do not drink port, Miss Bennett," he eyed her uneasily, agitating a fussy cushion tassle that sat by his hand.

"Not at all," Kitty reassured him quickly, "I'd much prefer it to tea. Mama makes me drink far more tea than I'm certain is truly good for me."

"But being a lady . . ." he continued, off-balance at her carefree assurance.

"I'm not going to sit here thirsty for anyone!" she retorted, settling herself in comfortably as he unstoppered the bottle and poured her a small measure of the drink, "Now did I tell you how dreadful the journey was here? The gentleman next to me quite─,"

"Now, now," the Major-General seized the conversation back again, "It does better not to dwell on such things, when I was stationed in Egypt back at the turn of the century─,"

"He was quite rude to me, but I put him properly in his place─,"

"You see the journey from England was most arduous and─,"

"I told him that I'd never been spoken to like that in my life before and that─,"

"Many a fine soldier perished on the long journey─,"

Across the room, the Darcy's, Miss Lucas and Mrs Collins stared in fascination. It was compelling, watching both stubborn hard-headed people plough on remorselessly with their own conversations, determined to end the victor and the centre of attention.

Neither seemed to take a breath, cutting off the other with a ruthless lack of ceremony, and in this way they continued, talking and drinking stoically as the Major-General automatically refilled their glasses, until, eventually, the clock struck ten and the party finally made their farewells, a tipsy Kitty being bundled off back to the Parsonage by Mr Collins, still insistent that she hadn't finished her conversation off to her satisfaction at all.

The next day the Collin's remained at the Parsonage with the Darcy's walking to call on them towards mid-morning. Kitty was confined to bed with a dreadful headache and much amusement was had recalling the night before whilst Mr Collins tutted and shook his jowls most disapprovingly at them all.

Just after luncheon, the Major-General called. This was quite to the surprise of the household as he had not been known to stray this far from his decanter before. The surprise was even greater when the Major-General, blushing vermillion and clearing his throat nervously, enquired after Miss Bennett, asking when he was likely to see her at Rosings again.

Elizabeth answered non-committally, to the obvious relief and slight consternation of the gentleman and with some effort kept a straight face until he had taken his leave before gleefully sinking into giggles, confiding in Charlotte that he was not accustomed to talking to someone who actually participated in his conversations and he had obviously found the experience most disquieting.

"Your dear sister does have a tendency to make an impression." was all that Elizabeth could get out of her husband, but it was quite enough to set her laughing again for quite some time.

It was fully two days later that the Major-General got his answer; an invitation for dinner for the whole party at the Parsonage was received from Lady Catherine. Mr Collins, always anxious after such a show of condescension, fluttered nervously around the house, questioning Maria's choice of dress twice and driving poor Charlotte frantic at her hair, before attending to his cousin and reminding her quite forcefully to defer to her superiors or risk losing Lady Catherine's beneficence which had been quite the epitome of graciousness up to this time.

It was thus with quite a heavy-heart that Kitty walked the short way to Rosings Park. She had been instructed to remember her manners this time and flatter the Major-General, no matter how dull his bothersome conversation was. She was quite angry that she had to spend such an evening in such an undesirable way and was determined not to enjoy herself a whit . . .

. . . To be continued.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

. . . And how tiresome this was! Kitty covered a yawn with her hand and huffed gloomily as Lady De Bourgh shot her a glare of steel, just daring her to interrupt her conversation about, what was it? The undeserving poor. Oh lord! She slumped back in her chair and looked about the room. There was Maria, conversing in whispers with her sister, and Lizzy? Her sister, who by rights should be entertaining her? She was listening to Lady Catherine with a wry smile on her face, obviously seeing some kind of joke, whilst her husband sat by her side, clearly sitting as arbitrator should the conversation become more lively than was desirable. Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, her lips sealed as she played a dreadfully dull Mozart concerto quietly to herself, a clear indication she would refuse to sing no matter how nicely worded the request, and Kitty was no singer herself. She briefly wondered whether a dance might be permissible, but Mr. Collin's lack of prowess at balls was legendary, and she'd never dare stand up with Mr. Darcy. A clink from the Major-General's customary corner brought him back to mind; old windbag, let him drink himself into a stupor. Perhaps then he would learn how to listen.

Later that long evening the assembled party divided up. Lady De Bourgh sat in state and settled down to talking, flanked by the Collins's and her daughter, Anne. Georgiana was at the pianoforte, and the Darcy's, Maria and Kitty were seated to play Whist. The game went badly however and Kitty lost every trick, much to the consternation of her partner, Maria. The game soon ended, and it seemed to be a source of much interest to the room in general.

"To be proficient in the game of Whist," Lady De Bourgh announced, "A player must have developed their mind to a great degree of skill."

"Indeed, your ladyship─," Mr Collins began but was immediately cut off.

"This must be achieved not through the frivolous pastime of playing cards, but through development of the logical mind through extensive reading of the right corrective material. Efforts to fight against the frippery of a young lady's mind should always be made."

"Indeed, your ladyship─," Mr Collins was cut off again.

"Come here, young woman," the Lady ordered.

Kitty opened her mouth to insist that it wasn't her fault she'd been dealt no high cards and that Maria was years younger than her in any case and if any efforts should be made to improve her mind it should be by her, but then remembered she'd promised to be her best manners. She got up and approached her hostess.

Before she'd had a moment to gather her wits and find something polite to say instead of her grumbles, she found herself dealt with most ruthlessly by Lady Catherine. Standing alone. Clutching a book. With Georgiana sat in her place.

A book? A book of . . . "Fordyce's Sermons," she gasped to herself, appalled. Then, still under the gimlet eye of Lady Catherine, she sank down on a settee, opened the volume to a random page and, as the card players resumed their game and Lady Catherine resumed her monologue to her eager audience; she cast her eye down the page:

It read:

_Be ever cautious in displaying your good sense. It will be thought you assume superiority over the rest of the company. But if you have any learning, keep it a profound secret especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding._

So she was meant to improve her mind in order to win at cards but then not show she'd improved her mind for fear of jealous men so would lose at cards? She snorted, hurriedly turning the sound into a sneeze and, whilst taking out her lace handkerchief accidentally dropped the hateful volume to the floor, kicking it under the settee with the heel of her boot and settled back far happier to her seat.

That dealt with, she cast a gaze around the room; the insufferable people were lost in their own little groups, and she ached to be at home where her mother was always sure to have gossip for her and where her father certainly had more sense than to ever recommend Fordyce's Sermons to her.

A clink came from the darkest corner of the room, and Kitty was reminded once more of the Major-General. Perhaps he might offer some consolation. Companionship even. At the very least he might offer her a drink.

She stood up and approached his corner . . .

. . . To be continued.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

. . . For a long moment the inhabitant of the dark corner seemed to gape in open-mouthed horror before decades of ingrained good manners took over. There was an uncomfortable harrumph, a sound Kitty was beginning to associate with this pedantic, geriatric bore, before the reluctant invite inevitably came.

"Miss Bennett." Another pause. "W-would you care to join me?"

Kitty looked around to where the other guests were wrapped up in their own exclusive entertainments. As no one even noticed her hurt expression, much less came over to draw her into the happy scene, she stuck her perfectly pointed nose up in the air and sat down determinedly on the nearest seat. "Thank you sir, it is nice to know that my company is wanted by someone."

As her eyes adjusted to the dim corner the Major-General came into focus. He was staring rather ferociously at her and, she could see, his hand was already straying to the cut-crystal decanter like a soldier groping desperately for his musket. He narrowed his eyes at her and nudged his head in the direction of the bottle.

"Oh. Yes please. I don't see why I should not, after all I am a grown woman am I not?" she challenged him before eagerly watching as he filled a glass for her to the very top before administering the same treatment to his own glass, and then took a long draw of claret to fill the silence.

"Have you recovered from _your_ journey _yet_?" the Major-General enquired, his jaw set and tense as he observed her over his glass.

Kitty's cheeks flamed. She bit her lip, determined not to say anything that would result in her being told off again. "As well as can be expected, sir." she tried, hoping that polite interest might elicit some semblance of sympathy. But he was already not listening, settling into a well-worn rut of his own, and she sighed.

"Recollections of a journey I made to fight in Egypt back in the year Seventeen Ninety Nine . . .," he began to drone.

She wilted in her seat as he continued, his white beard flashing in the half-light. "For while the weather was excessively clement, supply problems lent our way to be . . ."

It was interminable. It was going on forever. It would never, ever end . . .

"So I disembowelled the fella where he stood, gave the chap behind me the quick one-two with me sword and cut him down and continued on my charge determined to drive the enemy off of the battlefield."

"What!" Kitty blurted out, her eyes wide.

"Oh, I, forgive me!" the Major-General looked appalled. "I got carried away, young lady. Forget what I said. Talk about dancing and bonnets and, whatever it is you young ladies amuse yourselves with."

"Goodness no!" a wide-eyed Kitty leant forward, transfixed. "Please go on. It all sounds thrilling!"

The Major-General looked at her for a long moment_. "Nobody ever asked me to go on before."_ he thought to himself. Then, almost trembling with anticipation of a devoted audience, he launched into the experiences of his military career, not leaving out a bloody death or gory wound for fear of upsetting Miss Bennett.

And she listened. Enthralled. . .

The Major-General began to call at the Parsonage every day after that. Lavishing every attention onto his delighted audience he thrilled in his past adventures as never before. Reliving them ad infinitum, in fact. He took his young protégé on long walks through the grounds of Rosings, brow-beating whoever was not otherwise engaged into acting as unwilling chaperones as he expounded on this theory and that of war. At dinner times he quite monopolised Kitty, spending the time making salt cellars and mustard pots this battalion or that regiment, demonstrating the manoeuvres that won battles and the classic battle plans of history.

The Darcy's tacitly indulged this behaviour. Elizabeth felt it made the business of the visit pass far more smoothly, and Mr Darcy was just relieved to find his uncle's attention elsewhere for a change, although he pointed out secretly to Elizabeth that Kitty with military strategy behind her might just be invincible and her father might never forgive her.

Lady Catherine found the whole business quite intolerable. At the next dinner invitation she watched the pair like a hawk, finally striking decisively at a perfectly innocent comment from her younger brother.

"Now Miss Bennett," he rumbled good-naturedly, "Tell me where you have travelled."

"Not as far as you, sir. I have been to Derbyshire and Kent and . . . and . . . Oh! And I have an uncle in London."

"Ah yes!" Lady De Bourgh's voice carried clear across the length of the room, "In _Cheapside,_ was it not?" She smirked triumphantly. Clearly this was a matter that could not fall beneath her brother's notice. After all, was their noble line not accustomed to consorting with those of lesser spheres in society?

"Oh that's no good!" he bellowed, shaking his head.

Lady Catherine smiled indulgently at him. Obviously he would now realise the unsuitability of this strange friendship.

But then he patted Kitty's hand and, "Never fought a war in London." he went on. "Now where you want to go to is Spain. If it's not Napoleon's boys it's the Spanish guerillerro's. A more vicious band of cutthroats you could never hope to encounter . . . I remember once in Toledo . . ." and as he was lost on yet another battlefield, carrying a delighted Kitty on the journey with him, Lady Catherine looked like she was sucking a lemon.

Upon calling on Kitty the next day for their walk, their reluctant chaperone, Mrs Collins keeping fully one-quarter of a mile ahead to avoid their tedious conversation, the Major-General had something on his mind. His sister had had words with him the night before, and perchance she was right. Perhaps his friendship with young Miss Bennett was inappropriate, ungentlemanly even.

As they walked through the woods together in companionable if slightly awkward silence, he wrestled with his conscience. His sister was right, in a way. He was a soldier to be true, but he was also a gentleman and had conceivably neglected to fulfil this role to the required standards. A gentleman is . . . A gentleman is . . . Dashing. Honourable. Polite. Interested but not too interested. Intelligent. Charming. Converses with young ladies on refined topics─. Ah! That was it!

"I think perhaps," he began awkwardly as Kitty looked up, an expectant smile on her face, "I should not bore you with the tales of my exploits any longer. I should certainly not furnish you with the details I have hither to felt comfortable in imparting. As a gentleman─." his words died in his throat as he saw a look of stricken disappointment flash over Kitty's face.

"_As a gentleman?"_ he thought desperately, "_As a gentleman?"_ A gentleman is . . . Confident. Controlled. Urbane. Disciplined. Superior. Manly─. Manly!

"Perhaps instead you would allow me to demonstrate the correct techniques of swordsmanship I have hitherto only described to you." he offered instead. Now there was a manly pursuit; that of physical prowess, that even his elder sister could not disapprove of.

Kitty's face lit up again and he harrumphed with pleasure, casting about for a sturdy stick to use in place of his blade. Then, standing back, he demonstrated the main sabre positions to her, "P**rime, seconde, tierce, quarte, quinte, and sixte,"** he recited confidently, drawing his large frame into the positions to display to her, and then, quick on his feet, he darted off around the wood, fighting imaginary enemies and, with great 'Ha's' and 'Take that, sirs', he took on trees in fights to the death. Kitty laughed and laughed as he spun around the clearing fighting for her honour until the man finally reeled to a stop, huffing at the exertion, "And to end we salute." he swished his stick in a salute to her and sunk into a bow.

It came as he rose. A blade at his neck. His eyes focused and there was Kitty, armed herself and pressing her stick full at his throat! Her eyes sparkled with daring. "Do I win, sir?"

"I'll be damned if you do," he roared with delight at her impudence and, parrying her blade easily he pushed himself back onto a firm fighting stance and, "En Garde!" he bellowed, pressing his point.

Suddenly they were fighting, her inexpert lunges easily fended off, her attempts to disarm him failing on every count. She laughed, a peal of joyous sound that stopped him dead in his tracks and then, as he stared at her, gaping and suddenly aware for the first time how brown her eyes were, she knocked his stick out of his hand and pressed the end of her own against where his heart was thumping fit to burst.

"Prithee madam for you have vanquished me." he whispered, partly to himself as she glowed with triumph, and swallowed hard.

And then─. A sudden explosion seemed to mar the scene as Maria burst into the clearing, shattering the moment. "Such a to-do!" she cried out to both of them, rosy-cheeked and excited-looking, "Mr Collins bade me to come as fast as I could race. Your nephew, sir, Colonel Fitzwilliam has just arrived at the Parsonage looking for you. He is back from the war and particularly wishes to see you at once."

The Major-General tore his gaze away from Kitty at last and nodded to Maria. "I shall come directly. Thank you, madam."

His nephew was in the country. He looked to where Kitty was decorously wiping her muddied hands on her handkerchief, making herself presentable for the new arrival. His nephew was in the country.

His young, handsome nephew.

**. . . To be continued.**


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

The short journey back to the Parsonage was a nightmare for the Major-General. He strode his fastest, forcing Kitty to almost skip to keep up, his fists were clenched and his mind set on appearing himself, a man of war and honour, to his nephew.

To have fought with Miss Bennett, to have noticed her even, these were things that should not have happened. He felt they were written across his being. His very body daubed with the shame. On his hand where a splinter caused his thumb to throb. In the grass and mud thick on his boots. On his face, red with the exertion. In his very expressions and feelings that he felt, in fact, an unpardonable regard for a lady less than half of his age.

Beside him, striving to keep up, all Kitty could think was that the Major-General must be as keen to see the Colonel as much as she was. To speak of the war, to find out all of the news of battle!

But then Colonel Fitzwilliam was surely a born-solider like his uncle. Even more, he was a very amiable man, not prone to the gruff exterior of this more senior warrior; she had been introduced to him at the wedding of her sisters to Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, and she had found him a charming and attentive gentleman indeed. She had been sorely disappointed not to see him in his uniform but perhaps now the balm of seeing a gentleman in a red coat might be experienced. A man of heroism and action. A man worth noticing had come to Rosings and so much fun might be had!

As they entered the Parsonage, pausing only to scrape their boots by the entrance, Kitty looked around eagerly for the Colonel. And there he was, seated close to the fire, talking confidentially with Mr and Mrs Darcy. There was more though. His handsome face was etched with lines of pain, he looked pain and unwell, but he still strove to smile at Mrs Darcy's confidences and seemed good natured despite his afflictions. His right foot, set upon a footstool, was swaddled full with bandages. He had been injured in the line of battle and Kitty's heart went out to him. Now this was the reality of war. Not a game or a battle plan. This man was a true hero.

It was sometime later that the Major-General, more reticent than was customary and with the pained air of someone who has been neglecting his duty in favour of follies and his own amusement, waited upon his nephew.

After the Darcy's had talked with him, Mr Collin's had devoted fully half-an-hour to conversing with the man, soliciting his opinions on everything from the new drapery (selected in a manner which follow Lady De Bourgh's instructions on the matter precisely), to the view from the sitting room window (although scarcely anything could be done about that, unless one were to move all England around the Parsonage). Maria also took a brief moment of his time, fetching him a shawl of the softest wool she had been knitting to warm his injured foot, and meeting with a smile of thanks so off-balance that it had to be the sincerest gratitude. Finally Kitty, who had been watching the Colonel with tender adoration for the whole time, went and had her share of conversation with the man. Surprising him most agreeably with her knowledge and depth of insight about the conflict on the continent, he looked at her with a good deal too much fascination before the Major-General finally seized the opportunity to interrupt.

Sitting opposite his nephew, the Major-General tried desperately to remember who he had been the last time they met, or even just a few short weeks ago before he had found his preference for Miss Bennett's company prevailed over every sensible feeling a man in his position had.

That which he truly was, a Major-General in a high position of command over the Regiments of Britannia, middle-aged, married to his job, standing like a rock, alone whilst darkness swam all around him. He must conquer this tenderness, this frailty lest he materially damage his position. His reputation. Now dammit, who was he? Who had he been?

"Nephew." He began. Surely that was safe enough. "How goes the war."

"Well, uncle," The Colonel gave a weak smile, "Very well. Napoleon is full on the run."

"I was most impressed by hearing of the tactics used by our allies in the Battle of Leipzig?" he tried, gruffly.

"Aye sir, if sheer overwhelming of Napoleon by numbers is indeed a battle tactic then our allies, the Russians, Prussians and, might I add, even the Austrians might be considered warriors indeed."

"And how goes our war?"

"The British have moved full up to the Pyrenees, leaving Spain behind. I believe victory is finally in our grasp."

The Major-General smiled grimly, a victory after so long would be a salve to the discontented regiments, forced to wait for ultimate success for so long. "And your own injury?"

"The error is in full my own, uncle." The Colonel took a long draught of wine and continued, "We were ambushed whilst in the foot hills of the Pyrenees. My own stupid fault. I had allowed the men to fall out from formation. I thought we were safe enough. When the attack came, all hell broke loose. In the havoc my horse reared and I was thrown from him. I rolled on landing and found myself well-enough, even to the extent of keeping my pistol drawn and cutting one of their number down where I lay, but then my horse found me again. He landed full on my ankle. The bruising is deep enough, to be sure, but it is the dissatisfaction with my own leadership that grates more fully on my conscience."

"Tis no great shame to find yourself second-guessing your own decisions and actions. I have found myself," here he paused, his gaze falling on Kitty for the briefest moment before meeting his nephews gaze again. "Doing so far more often lately than I'd like. As gentleman we must act as we see fit and hope that our actions will be judged kindly by ourselves when we look back at them from times to come. When we find ourselves wanting we must acknowledge it, cut out the tainted flesh from our own breasts, and correct that which we have found lacking. The only shame is to continue down the wrong path knowing full well that we are continuing a folly and denying the harsh truth."

The Colonel seemed to digest this for a moment before continuing. "That is harsh judgement indeed. Are we not allowed to be sentimental in our actions? To follow our hearts and instincts over cold logic."

"Not if we are to remain unassailable, my boy."

"Anyway," the Colonel changed the subject, there was something dark in his uncle's eyes and it made him uncomfortable. "It means I may well miss the end of the war, uncle. They will not let a crippled man, however temporarily, to climb mountains it seems."

"And they wish me to return?" the Major-General asked, something zealous burning in his manner. Eager to get back to the war again. To be himself again.

"Yes. To continue the advance and send Napoleon back to Corsica where he belongs."

"Then I will start tomorrow. To Portsmouth and whence to war." The Major-General looked deeply relieved as he thought to himself. _"Yes. Away from this place of temptation and to war! Where the enemy is in front of you and does not devour a man from within_." He stared at Kitty again, laughing with Maria, and thought hard to himself,_ "She will not be the end of me. She will not!"_

**. . . To be continued.**


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

Kitty threw herself into the sheer frivolities promised by the evening ahead with all the energy she had previously reserved for her lessons in warfare. It felt marvellous after such a serious sojourn to feel light-hearted again, to concern herself with her hair and her gown and giggle with Maria over the handsome new arrival to the party instead of immersing herself in history lessons and stories.

She felt a pang perhaps at the recent behaviour of the Major-General. Her friend. Her teacher. He was distant now, his mind elsewhere. But then he was old and serious, however much he performed for her when they were alone. He had no interest in the silly pastimes of the young. Perhaps it was for the best. The Colonel was, on the whole, an acquaintance far more worth cultivating, after all. He was eligible, and handsome, and that, as her mother would readily agree, was just about everything a young lady should ask from a gentleman, and all the answer she should ever need.

The Major-General took out his red coat and brushed it down brusquely. His sister was insisting he stay for the dinner she was holding in honour of his nephew. Finger bowls and chit-chat, eh? Hardly the final hearty meal a soldier deserved. The gleam in her eye had left him with no illusions. So it was the Colonel she was pinning her hopes for Anne on now, was it? And he wasn't aware his nephews taste ran to sickly and cross.

Oh yes, he was quite certain she would not succeed. The gleam in Miss Bennett's eyes had been unmistakable. They could give her no hope for he saw none.

Kitty was determined, resolute and completely in earnest in everything she set her mind to. There was no way his nephew could resist that heady mix, that fragrant blossom that could intoxicate you with merely a glance. No man could hope to hold out against such an arsenal. And with her beauty too, her eyes, her lips . . . but that was neither here nor there.

He had no interest in how the acquaintance developed. He didn't. He didn't give a hoot about this whole business. He'd find out soon enough when the invitation arrived, after all.

He was departing. For battle. For war. Just as soon as he could take his leave from this wretched place; rip his heart from its moorings. And, by the grace of God and a Frenchman's musket, he might never come back again.

**. . . To be continued.**


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

The evening at Rosings came as sharp relief to the dour proceedings of evenings past. Lady De Bourgh was all charm and geniality to those assembled, and the Colonel, friendly and animated to all, was as gay and charming as he had ever been. Only the Major-General was out of spirits. Stiff and formal, he sat in his corner and drank claret like water. Kitty had tried to approach him, but he'd scowled at her so ferociously that she'd dared not come a step closer and had instead returned to the chattering hoards with something akin to relief. As she lowered herself to sit next to Maria she became aware of the conversation again . . .

"Anne, of course, has an appreciation of music that few possess. Only myself, I dare say, appreciates music with the same great depth of understanding she possesses, and even then I doubt I could radiate such quiet understanding and contentment as she does when she is truly lost in music." Here she looked lovingly at her daughter, who watched her, her mouth slightly open in the manner of an imbecile, and continued, "Indeed, if her health had only permitted her to play or sing or dance, indeed do anything other than simply listen, enchanted with the melody, I believe that there would be no one to eclipse her brilliance or outshine her talents."

"Undoubtedly madam." Mr Collins nodded fervently, desperate to convey the passion with which he agreed with her every utterance and approved her current course, "Indeed, your Ladyship, only Apollo, Greek god of music himself, could hope to aspire to such a lady, such a wife as this precious jewel."

"Apollo, perhaps," Lady Catherine continued, raising an eyebrow coyly as she made her salient point, "But I'm sure she would deign to accept the hand of a lesser man, should an offer be made by an acceptably refined gentleman." here she looked full at Colonel Fitzwilliam with knowing eyes and then, certain her wishes had been conveyed, settled back comfortably and regarded the party in a proprietary fashion, fully satisfied that her work had been done and that Anne would soon find herself with a far worthier suitor than her last had been.

Kitty slumped back and rolled her eyes. She could take this perhaps if Anne had been a ravishing beauty or a consummate wit, but the poor girl, sickly and cross, held even less appeal than her sister Mary. Indeed she could say that Anne combined the sense of her mother, the judgement of her sister Lydia, Mary's singing voice, Elizabeth' s patience and Jane's, well, perhaps nothing of Jane's, but she did have a full set of foibles of her own, and the Colonel certainly looked less than delighted at the prospect of spending an eternity united with such a woman and, no doubt, also such a woman's mother.

Suddenly she felt an almost overwhelming urge to show Lady Catherine up. The way she ordered everyone around; her family, her friends, even her own brother (from where she was sitting she could clearly see him huffing at her every ill-judged statement and positively swigging at his claret every time Lady De Bourgh mentioned the Colonel in that fatuous way). Obviously he found the idea of Colonel Fitzwilliam wedding Anne as ludicrous as she did. And it did no good at all to simply sit back and allow Lady Catherine to meddle in such a case. She felt that she should use her talents to somehow help the situation, show the woman that she could not treat people like things the way that the Major-General turned regiments into pepper pots to demonstrate his battle plans. She had to help the Colonel somehow. She had to be bold.

Of course the only thing Kitty could genuinely claim to be an expert in was dancing. And of course, the Colonel had damaged his foot, which hardly helped the state of affairs. But it couldn't be _that _unbearable could it? The pain? And her figure was certainly showed off in its most advantageous light when dancing. Surely that was worth experiencing a very little pain for, especially since the look on his aunt's face would more than make up for it.

Getting up and curtseying to Lady Catherine, Kitty wandered over to the side of the room and then to a large musical box which dominated the bureau. As she expected, Lady Catherine immediately sought to have her part in Kitty's exploration. "That cylinder musical box of the most modern and expensive model was presented to me by a cousin of the Royal family." she boasted. It is extremely valuable, one of the first to be produced in Sainte-Croix. When he gave it to me, Lord S─," and here she was drowned out as Kitty lifted the lid and a tinkling harmony of, Mozart's was it, filled the air, and Kitty sighed in contentment.

Then, ever aware of the eyes on her, she began to step in time to the music, swaying her lissom and limber body whilst making figures with her hands. It felt wonderful to dance again, to lose herself in the steps that came so naturally to her. She had not felt so free since the Major-General had fought with her that morning; her chest rising and falling as she breathed heavy, the exhilaration of the chase and the capture, laughing in triumph, that strange penetrative stare . . . She shook her head to clear it of the image, disturbed at how the sight of the Major-General; out of breath, ruddy faced and so obviously excited had aroused her feelings so peculiarly. It was ridiculous. He was an old man.

Dragging her mind back to the present, she looked around and saw the Colonel laughing in delight at her antics. "Surely a most meritorious pastime, Miss Bennett." he complimented her, eyeing her with enough appreciation to make Lady Catherine steam with frustration.

"Well perhaps if your foot is feeling a little better you might join me in a reel, sir?" she questioned wickedly.

"Well, I─," he was cut off.

"Kitty!" warned her sister, Elizabeth, with ill-concealed forcefulness. "The Colonel is injured!"

"Not at all," the Colonel lifted his foot off of his footstool and stood up gamely, wincing only a little as his foot touched the floor. "I would be delighted to partner you." and, foreseeing Lady Catherine's objections, he continued, "I should hate to materially damage the pleasure my dear cousin, Anne, might gain from watching people dance to such a glorious music."

At that he made over to the musical box before Lady Catherine could stammer an objection, wound it tight and took Kitty's hand. Bowing to her curtsey, he began to dance an energetic reel with his partner, Kitty beaming her enjoyment as the vigorous young officer danced as if inspired, his every figure drawn perfect on the floor and his handsome visage made all the more perfect by the red of his officer's coat.

It seemed as if the whole room was watching them. Every time she circled her partner she caught sight of another face. Lady Catherine's scowling disapproval. Anne's cross pout, Mrs Darcy's gentle reprove, Mr Collin's bright smile as he threw his head back and forth fondly imagining himself dancing so correctly with his pretty young cousin and the Major-General . . . the Major-General . . . The glare that was cast over his thunderous face full took her breath away and she stumbled. Old man! Of course he disapproved of soldiers dancing, but that gave him no right to so openly censure the actions of his nephew.

As she came round in the turn again she saw his eyes still blazing, his hand shaking rather in his fury and spilling the contents of his glass full over the white linen tablecloth as he seethed with anger. She stumbled again. "Oh bother!" she cried, and the dance ended somewhat abruptly as she tripped over her feet and landed against the back of an over-stuffed chair.

"I apologise." The Colonel was the consummate gentleman, helping her up and bowing to her. "It seems I am not as graceful as I prefer to imagine."

"No sir. It was my fault entirely," Kitty cringed inside. Why did she have to show herself up in front of such a man? Just when it was going so nicely too. "I was not concentrating."

"Perhaps the aura of auntly disapproval?" the Colonel murmured to her, a devilish look on his face. "Shall we widen its range, Miss Bennett?"

Kitty looked at him curiously and then stepped back, startled, as the Colonel walked, still favouring his injured foot, over to Maria, "Would you care to dance, Miss Lucas?"

After looking petrified for a brief moment, Maria gave a shy smile of acquiescence and took his hand as she rose.

"And, um," the Colonel searched around for someone to complete the party. Darcy bristled with ill-ease, and Mr Collins, well, to say he was most unfortunately exuding a keen sweat of anticipation would have been sorely understating the fact.

Finally, with no little reluctance and indeed a feeling of apprehension, he turned to the Major-General, "Uncle? Perhaps you might partner Miss Bennett?"

The Major-General started with horror and harrumphed uncomfortably, shifting in his seat as he looked everywhere but at the Colonel or Kitty. "Well, I─ I─."

"Come, Uncle." the Colonel continued expectantly, "A soldier tomorrow, but today, sir, surely still a gentleman?"

That was it. An officer _and_ a gentleman. There was no honourable alternative. He had to comply.

He pulled himself up, feeling unsteady on his feet after so much claret, and shuffled his feet over to where Kitty, a look of quiet discomfort in her own eyes, awaited him.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, he reached out and, with impulses coursing up and down his body and his eyes fierce as they locked onto her own, daring her to mock him at her peril, he tenderly took her hand . . .

**. . . To be continued.**


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act One: Rosings (continued)

. . . As his rough weathered hand clasped her smooth white fingers, Kitty shivered involuntarily, suddenly caught off-guard as if he had given her the tenderest caress. Caught in his gaze she fought valiantly to retain her composure, his eyes still flashing with that dark fire beneath his white briar patch of a beard. He was an old man. He was an old man.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, unaware of the atmosphere that seemed to surround the couple, separating them from aught but each other in the world, wound the spring tight on the musical box. "A Scotch Reel, I think." He sprang into position, clicking his heels together as he enthused. "Uncle, next to me, and Miss Lucas," here he grinned nervously, "Over here, and Miss Bennett, there." Then, with a tinkling sound the music began.

There had been many dances in Miss Bennett's life. She had stumbled through quadrilles with Mr Collins, sailed through country dances with half a regiment at her side and even danced with her sisters when no other partner was to be had. But in all that time Kitty had never experience such mortification as she felt now.

It was the most awful sight she had ever had to witness. Major-General Fitzwilliam; gentleman, soldier, powerful dignity evident in every fibre of his manly being, was, well, he was _dancing_. Contorting his supple body into those fanciful weavings of the dance as if he never hefted a sabre in battle or led the charge on his fine chestnut stallion. As if he was an ordinary man even. It was the most perverse thing she had ever seen.

Colonel Fitzwilliam danced on oblivious to this horror, strutting like the peacock he was, he did not look out of place. And Maria, if she had scarce taken her gaze from the Colonel's prancing and parading for a moment she would have seen naught wrong. Even the audience, she surmised, found nothing dreadful in this farce. A wry smile played perhaps on the lips of Mr Darcy, but as for the rest, none of them could see how low this brought the Major-General. _Her_ Major-General.

She danced the steps from rote now, her mind elsewhere, swimming in the mortification she felt for the man. _"Have I brought you to this?" _she thought, and then wondered why. He was dancing after all. Very well, in fact. Perhaps a little stiffly, but perfectly passable in any company. As she watched him embark on his setting, those fairy steps that seemed to sit so well when danced by any other gentleman, she felt ashamed for him.

The Reel ended as the musical box wound down. Not a moment too soon for Kitty, and she fair dragged the Major-General, who still clasped her hand in his, back to the party. Back to his decanter where he might, perhaps, become her gruff soldier to her again, before collapsing on a chair of her own, a little outside of the party.

"There, nephew." Lady Catherine was speaking loudly now. "I told you that absolute rest was the only sure remedy for your injury. Now what have you to say?"

Kitty looked around to see that the Colonel was very much limping now, his ankle scarcely able to bear his weight as Maria fussed around him trying to assist him. She sighed with regret. That had been her doing too. She was certainly not doing well tonight. As the Colonel settled back down in his place and lifted his injured foot onto the footstool to receive Maria's tender ministrations, Lady Catherine continued.

"Nothing would stop his dancing, even with that dire injury." she announced to the room. "Simply nothing would do but to set about bringing my dear Anne pleasure. He knew, you see, that nothing brings her more pleasure than music and that she prizes it above all other manner of tawdry gifts or tokens of affection. There! What do you think of that, Mr Collins?" As Mr Collins lurched into another of his delicate compliments to his Patroness, agreeing wholeheartedly that the Colonel dancing with other women could only be a compliment to Anne, Kitty stopped listening. All she could see in her minds eye was the Major-General dancing and it repelled her.

Why had he done it? So against his character? But then he was always a gentleman, whatever else he could be said to have been, that was one of his staunchest tenets. He could not leave a lady without a partner, could he? He would never let a lady down. Least of all, hers─

Tearing her mind away from that idea lest she think it and be left with it in her mind forever more, she looked over to where he sat. But he was not drinking. He simply sat and stared at her in that strange way. She looked away again and when she looked back with something akin to yearning in her own gaze, he had moved his gaze.

"As ever, Mr Collins, you are quite correct in your opinions." Lady Catherine was in command again, "I never did see a man dance with quite so much grace as the dear Colonel. Now my brother perhaps is a little old to be indulging in dancing─."

Kitty shook her head crossly. Old? How dare she! He was her younger brother and certainly was not that old in any case. Mature perhaps but old? No! He was a soldier. They stayed younger than other men. Fitter. She found her eyes stealing back to the Major-General yet again. Was he drinking yet? Himself again? But no. He sat there, his glass quite empty and worried a piece of loose cotton on his cuff in his distraction.

As Kitty watched, he tried to nip the end off, but only succeeded in pulling the end longer and caused his cuff to bunch up. She smiled, feeling suddenly warm inside. He really was rather endearing. But old. Too old. He was─, he was─,

"I really think you ought to get back to your drinking," Oh no! Was that her shrill voice, telling him off? "And if you are not to drink then you should certainly offer other people refreshment."

He looked back at her. She felt like he was steeling himself to say something but then, after a long moment, fell back on his habitual harrumph. "Help yourself." He growled, gesturing to the decanter.

"I will." Ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of the other people present, for she had spoken very rudely and very loudly, she stamped over to the Major-Generals corner and helped herself to a very liberal glass of claret, raising the scarlet liquid to her pale lips and taking a reckless swig. "And I shall have some more too!" Draining the glass she set it down with a clunk and refilled it to the brim, raising it to her lips once more. "And then another!" she threatened. "For it does not matter how badly you dance or indeed how badly you fight, for you shall be gone forever tomorrow so this fine claret might as well be drunk as not!" It was as if she was trapped inside her own body. She could not control what she was saying and she did not have a notion as to quite why she was so angry with him.

"Indeed!" the Major-General cried to the room, "Tis true. Why waste it on an old man who will like-as-not be dead come Christmas? But do not mourn. Is it not every soldiers dream to die with his boots on? At least until some jackanapes see fit to take 'em with our teeth and loose change. Oh do not worry about me, Miss Bennett. I face my end quite contentedly, indeed only regret that I lived these past few weeks longer!"

"Well," Kitty was shaking with fury, almost in tears in her rage, "I hope your death is gory enough to satisfy even you and drink good health to the crows." She raised her glass to her lips again and downed the drink in one.

"Come away, Kitty!" her sister, now by her side, plucked at her sleeve quite agitatedly. "You are disgracing us!" Kitty was determined though and would not be removed.

"Do kindly drink a last toast with me." Fixed on her, the Major-General filled her glass one more time before splashing the remaining claret in his own. "To my death. To my last. To the end of this interminable sojourn in an English Country House." He clinked his glass against hers with such great force that the ringing echoed around the now silent room. "To endings." He forced out the words with a gruff voice.

"The gorier the better." she countered, and then drunk all the glass again.

With a muttered curse the Major-General slammed down his glass and finally left the room, no doubt to start for the coast and the war at once.

And Kitty, left behind, swayed with the loss as fully as with the intoxicant, and collapsed to the floor. The fussings that came then; her sister, her cousin, a blanket wrapped around her as she was carried to a couch were as nothing.

She would never see this man again. Never have the opportunity to tell him. That she was not truly angry at him but that she was angry at herself. For the simplest reason, and the most important one of all. Angry that she could see this man every day for so long and simply, wretchedly, not know that she was in love with him.

**. . . To be continued.**


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Two: Longbourn

Kitty's notoriety had, luckily, not travelled with her the full fifty miles from Rosings. Her family and, blessedly, her father, were unaware of her behaviour throughout her visit and especially on her last night, at least until Mr Collins saw fit to enlighten them of course, and for that she was grateful. She had been very quiet since she had returned. Even after her headache lifted, her heartache remained, and she had no wit as to how she could overcome it.

Her sister had scolded her the whole journey before depositing her, with no little relief, into the arms of her family, not that she remembered much of it. She had been lost in herself, reliving her shame again and again, the strange look in his eyes, the way he had felt brushing against her in the dance. But he had left. He had gone directly he had quit the room after that dreadful argument. Taking nothing but his horse and his uniform in that hard-headed, stubborn way of his that she couldn't help but adore. He lived for war of course, and now he'd die for it, on some battlefield in France, and he'd never know how much she truly esteemed him.

She did not think, of course, that her love was something he wanted, or could ever be something he sought: she was an ignorant child, low-born and with no accomplishments to speak of. She had no conversation, was not half as pretty as her sister, Jane, and what looks she did have would fade and diminish over time. She could dance, and everyone had seen where that could lead. But the fact remained that she had love for him. A sad, lonely love that had consumed her since the very moment she had noticed him. But then her love was nothing to this man; soldier, gentleman, man of the world. However it was all she had that was hers, and the only thing she had to offer against all of his advantages. Not nearly enough to satisfy propriety. Never enough to make him hers.

Maria was her only consolation in all of this. She had been to see Kitty every day since their ignominious expulsion from Rosings Park. A sister, perhaps not by blood, but certainly in need. They never talked of Rosings but Kitty took great consolation in Maria's company, quiet and steadfast. Anything rather than her mothers constant haranguing, remonstrating loudly against her daughter's newfound introspection and bullying for all the gossip of her stay in Hunsford, something she was very loathe to impart.

"I simply know not what is wrong with you, child!" her mother constantly scolded her, "And with Doctor Reginald Lucas come from Oxford and attending Mary so solicitously this last month it seems that she will be my good daughter now whilst you sit there saying naught and ignoring all your friends. And then what will I do with you? With your poor father's health deteriorating so much since the summer?"

"I had not noticed." Mr Bennett would always put in mildly at this point and, with a smile, for he rather liked a quieter, graver Kitty, he would always continue, "And to think I thought my dear wife was failing far faster than me!" This inevitably led to hysterics and would give Kitty some brief respite from her mother's tender ministrations for a while.

Christmas finally arrived, and with it came the season for parties and frolics. Kitty began, in some small way to feel herself again. There had been no news from France of the Major-General, save the successful advancement of the troops, although she scoured the newspapers for information and persuaded Maria to write to her sister, Mrs Collins every week enquiring of the health of all Lady Catherine's family. No news was good news and over time the pain of what had happened in Rosings ceased to be raw and began to fade. She began to take interest in the events of Meryton society and, as young men began to pay their attentions to her again, she allowed herself to feel flattered and attractive again.

It was on the Friday after Christmas that it happened. Lord and Lady Lucas had held a small party at Lucas Lodge. They had been rather more attentive of the Bennett's of late, becoming quite concerned as to their bookish elder sons burgeoning attachment to Mary Bennett and seeking a way to moderate this undesirable alliance. They had therefore invited not only the customary guests to their gathering, but also a large number of handsome young officers of the Regiment in situ, a measure that failed before it even began due to the Regiments disinterest in Mary and Mary's disinterest in the Regiment.

With the younger Miss Bennett they were rather more fortunate. Kitty had taken one long, lingering look at the red-coats and the gentlemen they encompassed, and decided to throw herself fully into the festivities. For the first dances it was as if she was her old self again. She danced with the most handsome of the soldiers and was much admired by them all. Whilst her sister Mary had eyes only for Doctor Lucas, seated together to one side of the door, exchanging secrets and sharing their acerbic opinions of all those present, Kitty was managing the room beautifully. She seized Maria, still inclined towards probity, and drew her into the frenetic picture, diving into the excitement of the moment, and becoming once again one of the silliest girls in England.

Later that evening she was beginning to regret her rashness. She was seated whilst a handsome young officer who had much impressed her with his dancing skills, Mr Thackeray she believed, droned on about his exploits. They _weren't_ exploits. Not in any way she recognised. A bruise on his shin from training exercises; a short sojourn on the continent in Spain without even a hint of the enemy in sight. An exploit was losing the whole hand or slaughtering a battalion of French soldiers single-handed. Surely any fool knew that. She stifled a yawn and didn't even bother to try to hide the glazed look in her eyes. If these were the wild exploits of the young, give her the every day life of curmudgeonly old men any day.

Taking her leave from the insufferable young buck, she found Maria in a similar state of malaise and, finding a quiet corner in which to sit, they seemed to slip back into their customary companionable silence as the party continued around them.

It was with no little surprise that a short time later, Maria suddenly started back, her lips parting in surprise as she gasped. Kitty sprang around to see what was to do, and he was there. Fitzwilliam. _Colonel _Fitzwilliam. Young, robust, dynamic. Striding over with Lord Lucas he looked decidedly sheepish upon seeing the young ladies yet as handsome as ever in spite of it. He had come to her? But why? What did this mean? What could he possibly want of her?

**. . . To be continued.**


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Two: Longbourn (continued)

The Colonel bowed, and with a shy smile, greeted the young ladies. "Forgive me, Miss Bennett, Miss Lucas, I simply could not leave the country without saying a proper farewell to you both."

"The country!" Maria gasped. "You are going to France?"

"Yes." he replied performing a quick jump onto each foot, "As you can see my injury is full recovered and I am eager to return to the war. I hope to be back in the fray come the first week of the New Year."

"Will you be joining your uncle, sir?" Kitty put in suddenly.

"Aye. It is quite likely. I expect to be close enough to be told in exact terms how to conduct myself and my men according to some great writ conceived by soldiers who fought prior to my birth, but hopefully far enough away to take little notice of it."

"He is a _very _good soldier." She couldn't help but defend him, and all of a sudden wanted to ask the Colonel to take a message to him. To tell him something, or everything. Anything in fact. But the next words out of the Colonels mouth dashed her hopes. She couldn't. Not after that.

"Aye and does he not tell as much to every person he meets!" the Colonel laughed gaily, little realising how he crushed Kitty when he did so. "I do not know why you defend him so! I know there is no love lost between the two of you. Indeed the disagreement between you on your last night at Rosings Park has already been marked down in my aunt's memory as the most infamous affair in her recollection. She takes it down and dusts it off to tell every person who comes to call, and inform them of the depravities of the notorious Miss Kitty Bennett and her poor put-upon younger brother!"

Kitty felt herself go pale. "Is it really quite so bad?"

"No!" Maria touched her arm consolingly, "You cannot be held accountable in the least. It was the Major-General who had you drinking. It was him who took you over so, being such a nuisance the whole time we were in Kent. He was hardly a gentleman by his actions, was he?"

"That is exactly right, Miss Bennett," The Colonel agreed fervently. "He cannot help it, the old duffer; he's conducted his life in the pursuit of honour, glory and drunkenness. If he wasn't so highly born he'd be recognised publicly as the dissolute scalp hunter he undoubtedly is."

"But─,"

"But nothing, Miss Bennett. Your visit, you and Miss Lucas, will be fondly remembered by all those others present as one of the most enjoyable, and dare I say, lively times in all the history of dour old Rosings Park. Brightness, vivacity and style, that's what it was. All my uncle will be remembered as is the fellow who drank the wine cellar dry and bored those assembled to tears."

"That is very kind, sir." She managed to smile at last, though there was sadness in her voice as she continued. "Although I'm sure the Major-General should be remembered in far more illustrious terms than I . . ."

The evening continued with the Colonel being as courteous and entertaining as ever. He fetched them wine and good things to eat, and was more attentive than any man she had ever known. He told them tales of his youth, constantly reproved by his dragon-like Aunt De Bourgh, and, whilst never actually dismissing his cousin Anne out of hand, he implied in no uncertain terms that he was in no way prepared to act as Darcy's second and take up the gauntlet thrust down by his aunt. He would not be paying addresses to Miss De Bourgh, no matter how steel-like the auntly virtues were applied. He had, he inferred, far more agreeable prospects elsewhere.

Kitty's continuing silence, still so desperately worried about the Major-General, was a cause for concern for them both. Whilst it gave Maria an opportunity to dominate the conversation for once, casting aside her shyness to chat nineteen to the dozen to the Colonel in whose company she obviously had learned to relax in and take pleasure from, they both cast anxious glances at Kitty from time to time. She was so different now to the merry young lady she had been, and it worried them both.

Across the room, Mrs Bennett quite despaired. Here was a fine young man. Mr Darcy's cousin even. He had come to Meryton full from Kent just to see her Kitty, had he not? Why could she not secure him? Her gaze turned to Mary. Now she was a good girl, sat with Doctor Lucas so nicely. But a moment later she was cast into a whirl. Why was Mary smiling so? Why was Doctor Lucas getting up and taking his leave? Why was he going to her husband and speaking so confidentially . . . ?

And back in the corner, Maria had excused herself to speak for a moment with her mother.

Seeming to seize the opportunity of their seclusion together, the Colonel turned to Kitty, his cheeks pink and his breath suddenly jagged. "Miss Bennett," he spoke with a thick voice, earnest and true, gazing so full into her eyes that she suddenly realised, with a wonderful thrill, that he had his uncle's eyes, their depth and understanding. She smiled, suddenly weak, suddenly feminine and demure when captured by those eyes, unable to mask her pleasure as he continued.

"I have something to ask you. Now. While we are alone. I could not leave the country without coming to this place, coming to seek a chance to ask you something so personal, so important, that I should have asked you when we were all together in Rosings that day. The answer you give me now will alter the whole course of my life, determine all my future happiness and fulfil me in a way you could never imagine. Please, I beg of you, answer me now. Miss Bennett. Dear Miss Bennett. I am in love. Please tell me, for only you know, if I stand a chance. If my addresses would be welcome. Will you . . ."

**. . . To be continued.**


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Three: France

Major-General John Fitzwilliam fixed his telescope to his eye and scanned the landscape. Nothing. They really had old Frenchie on the run now. They hadn't faced any opposition worth a damn since they'd advanced from the Pyrenees.

That's what marked the difference though, between warfare and a rout. There was no challenge, no skirmishes or last bloody charges. There just wasn't any fight in it anymore. They were beaten and they knew it. There had _been _some action, but nothing that would make a fine tale.

What's more amputations and strategies and chases through enemy countryside just weren't enjoyable without, well, Kitty, he had to admit. Capturing her interest, enthralling her, thrilling her and watching her obvious excitement and pleasure, it had become like wine to him. He craved it. And the longer he was apart from her, the more persistent the ache. Nothing could sate it. Life was empty without her. Wine was like water. Taking a life was like snuffing a candle. At night he dreamed of her and how he yearned for the night! For the dreams that came, dreams of gazing upon her, of running his hands through her thick chestnut hair and breathing her in. Of doing more. Of knowing her fully and have her know him.

But it did no good to dwell on it, for she despised him. She'd made that abundantly clear. He was old. She was not. He was in France. She could never be. It could never be. And that was that.

Shaking his head to clear it of the images that hurt so much, he slid his telescope closed and placed his mind firmly on the moment at hand.

The New Year dispatches had informed him that that young whippersnapper of a nephew of his, Colonel Fitzwilliam, would be rejoining his regiment today, as well as the new recruits, raw firmament that just waited for him to shape them into something approaching decent soldiers. There had also been letters from home for the men as usual, and, surprisingly, a letter for him.

The Major-General, certain that there would be no trouble today, sighed, as he'd much rather be hunting down the enemy and running them through, and pulled the letter out of the pocket of his great coat, sliding his finger under the wax seal to break it. Then he opened the letter and began to read.

It was from his sister, Catherine. Unusual.

_My Dear Brother_

Interesting start, that, he snorted.

_The events of last autumn at my home, Rosings Park, notwithstanding, I hope you are well upon receipt of this missive. I know that you have never lacked for bravery, a certain roughness of purpose that limits the finesse of your manners in more refined company, but I feel justifiably proud that the safety of our nation rests in the capable hands of you and your men._

There's the honey, he noted wryly, now where's the sting?

_The events of last autumn still echo around the hallowed halls of Rosings Park, tainting all who hear about them. _

Because you tell them . . .

_I warned you of the peculiarity of your friendship with Miss Bennett. After all, has not her sister, Elizabeth, taxed the proud name of Fitzwilliam to the hilt already? I was pleased indeed when Miss Bennett showed her true colours to you on your final night at Rosings. At last you seemed to move out from under her malodorous shadow and realise your true role. That of soldier, nothing more. And her role, a force for destruction and nothing less._

He uttered a shrill, disbelieving laugh. It was amazing. How his elder sister could take a perfectly innocent row and use it to cast a young lady into the bowels of hell whilst elevating him to some avenging angel! If his sisters face hadn't been punishment enough (for it showed the beauty of her character off very well indeed) he had a mind to slap it. He harrumphed, annoyed, and continued.

_It seemed though, that another sinister alliance was being formed during your time at Rosings. I blame myself for not seeing it, not nipping it in the bud whilst I still had some semblance of control over the fledgling relationship. But it is too late now. It is my sad duty to inform you, brother, that I believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam, so well meant for my dearest daughter, Anne, has succumbed in a far baser way to the Hertfordshire malady. That disease that lends the nobility of our fine family to discard their fine prospects in favour of a far inferior union._

Here the Major-General gasped, nearly swallowing his tongue as he fought for composure. Thrusting the letter away from him in horror, he started back with distraught alarm. No! She wouldn't. She hadn't. His nephew was fine enough he supposed, fair of face and not a bad soldier. But marriage? Their marriage?

He forced himself to return to the letter, desperate to read more and frightened to in the same instant. His hands were shaking with fear or rage or something else. Something that writhed in his gut. And it got worse . . .

_Upon your departure from Rosings Park he retreated. From society. From the company and from the family. He remained in his room and, when his ankle recovered sufficiently, took long walks in the countryside alone. I know not what he did or thought during this solitude, but it seems to have turned his mind to a particular course, one anticipated with much horror on all of our parts._

_I still held out hope though, that it wasn't too late and arranged a grand dinner for his final night. It was not enough however, he left before the dinner had even been cooked. In truth, stating his intention to travel to Meryton before his ship sailed for the continent. Meryton, my brother. Meryton. It seems there must be no doubt in this case. I am now certain he has got it into his mind to marry beneath him. The stubbornness of youth perhaps might be reasoned with, but the Bennett's, never. I am now certain that there is something about that family that brings our own low. I see no hope in this case._

_I am therefore sorry to inform you that we may have lost another nephew in the basest most unpardonable way. I pray you might reason with him. I'm sure the girl could be paid off; a matter of a few hundred pounds for our honour seems a small price indeed to pay. So I leave it to you to try to change his mind. Convince him that the ties of family are far more lasting than those of a pretty face and a forward disposition. If a settlement may be made with him, please contact me with all due haste and I will make all the necessary arrangements for the remuneration of the Bennett girl. _

_Oh, indeed I hope this missive finds you well, as it seems you must heft the majority of the family honour upon your broad shoulders._

_Yours sincerely_

_Catherine De Bourgh_

Struck dumb, the Major-General let the letter flutter to the ground and, exhausted and appalled, he reeled backwards and slumped against a tree utterly bereft for a long time.

So there was no hope.

Some time later. It could have been an hour or a minute for all he knew. There was a disturbance. Looking up, the Major-General could see a commotion by the farmhouse. The hens were clucking and, no wonder, for the new recruits had arrived en masse in the cart, and were spilling out into the yard and milling around with all the apparent training of yokels.

He sighed once, slapped his hands down on his sides, and strode forward yelling. Sorting out the blasted mess as always and dragging his mind back to more important things, the security of the nation and of the crown, instead of his own shallow concerns. It could not be that bad? He could not be that set on her, could he?

And when it had all quietened down, he went out into the night air. One of the new recruits, Thackeray, he remembered, was looking out into France with some trepidation.

"It's far more interesting when there are men to shoot." The Major-General chided him gruffly. "Isn't worth a damn looking at when it's empty."

"I just find it all so different, sir." The young man smiled at him nervously. "A few days ago I was in Meryton dancing at a party, and now, well, I'm at war in a foreign country, aren't it sir!"

"Meryton!" the superior officer said sharply, prompting the man to continue.

"Yes. A charming country town with very pleasant people. There was a rather interesting scandal developing whilst we were there though. A young lady, a Miss Bennett I believe, accepted a marriage proposal from a well-to-do young man and twas announced, with gay abandon before all assembled at the party. It seems there is some great unsuitability of the young lady in the case. The local nobility are furious."

"_Yes." _he thought sadly, "_That sounds like my dear sisters reaction indeed."_

So there _was_ no hope.

**. . . To be continued.**

A/N: I do apologise for mis-spelling 'Bennet'. Having mistakenly used 'Bennett' all the way through, I shall continue to do so for consistencies sake. I hope it doesn't mar the story too much, and thank you to CaRtWhEeLs for noticing and letting me know!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Three: France (continued)

The Major-General had slept little that night. Pacing back and forth in his small private room in the farmhouse, he was finally bawled at by the other officers to cease his pacing or vacate the building, and he took it upon himself to go abroad and inspect the men's bivouac in the fields around the building instead. The cold winter sun came up eventually, the Major-General in his fraught state having made no progress save the expulsion of a couple of French prostitutes who were seeking to introduce his young soldiers to the delights of venereal disease.

It was a strange feeling, to be so beholding to another. A few months ago he could scarce imagine life without the army, now he had to force himself to remain. But then that was the curse of single-mindedness. His determination to fight war had left no room for anything but his regiment, his whole adult life. It had consumed him. But this new obsession had engulfed all of that. Napoleon. His nation. All were nothing to his desire to have her be his. And now she was to marry his own nephew. He would be forced to watch as they pledged their troth, took that first long walk to the marital bedchamber and raised fat babies that he must be great-uncle to.

There was no action he could take but remain at war. Fight the French and, when they were exterminated, go on to other spheres of battle. Africa perhaps, or the East. Fight on and wrap his other feelings up so tight within himself that he might control them again and keep his countenance.

He would bid his nephew warning though. Forget his sister's ideas of good stern pressure to drop the Colonel's acquaintance with Miss Bennett. Kitty obviously wanted his nephew and she should have him, have everything she desired always. But if he should so much as harm one hair on her head or have her spill a single tear over his actions, the Major-General would be there. And there would be no mercy but swiftest, harshest retribution. On that he gave his word.

Have made a personal resolution thus, the Major-General decided his troops had been slug-a-beds long enough. With a swift bellow he roused those men closest to him, and like ripples in a pond, the rest of the soldiers seemed to stir at the indication of a new day. Thus satisfied that he had affected some action this morning, the Major-General returned to the farmhouse to see about calling up some breakfast.

It was whilst he consumed a nourishing, if not to his personal taste, bowl of porridge that he heard the hullabaloo outside his quarters. Angry voices were raised and the sounds of staggering could clearly be heard on the hard frosty ground. Shoving back the table, which screeched, protesting at this treatment, Major-General Fitzwilliam clambered to his feet and strode to the door.

Well he'd be damned.

"It seems my errant officer has finally deigned to present himself!" he roared.

For _there _was Colonel Fitzwilliam, who should have reported to him last evening when the new troops had arrived. There he was and in what a terrible state. His face was red with wine, his hair wild and dishevelled, and his uniform, filthy. Drink stains ran down the front and mud marred the cut of his trousers. He could barely stand; being hefted between two other officers, Mr Hanley and Mr Garner, two of his more reliable men, and his eyes seethed with anger. A large welt on his cheek betrayed his silence. He'd obviously been fighting.

The Major-General shook his head and spoke with no little disgust. "Where have you been?"

Looking decidedly ill, the Colonel did not answer, looking away nauseously and dry retching as if he fully intended to shame himself in front of half the regiment.

"Hanley? Garner?" the Major-General barked. "What has been going on?"

With some reluctance, for the Colonel was popular and his authoritarian uncle less so, Hanley finally spoke, "He's been in town."

"Bayonne?"

"Yes sir. There was a fight. Well, more of a brawl sir."

"If you do not tell me exactly what has occurred, young soldier, I shall have you horsewhipped!" The tone of his voice brooked no argument and the man hung his head.

"He was drinking with some of the French women and a few of the locals took it rather badly, sir. There was a fight and, later . . ."

"Later?"

"We caught him being half-killed by the Blacksmith, sir. He was, well, with a French girl in the alley behind the café in the square. He was rather drunk, sir. He," finally it all came out in a rush, "He had his hand up her skirt and her father came along and, naturally, charged him with a hammer and if we hadn't been there he'd as like as not killed him."

The silence was deadly now. All the courtyard was silent as observers waited for the Major-General to explode his wrath upon his nephew, for no matter what others said of the man, he treated a soldier like a soldier, there was no familiarity tempering action for him.

"Um," it was Garner who spoke now, hurriedly trying to calm down the hard-breathing Major-General, "I speak passable French and he's not going to press charges against the Colonel or anything. I made sure of that."

But it was too late. The Major-General, finally finding words not enough, launched himself bodily at his nephew, flecks of spit raining out of his mouth as he grasped the Colonel by the lapels and dragged him away from the other officers. "How _dare _you!" he thundered, hauling the man towards him like fisherman reeling in his catch, "How dare you bring such disrepute upon my officers?"

The Colonel, gasping with incredulity, stood there, his knees sagging from drink and exhaustion, before coming to his wits and, seeing his uncle's fist coming, ducked just in time to escape the heavy blow.

"Drinking? Fighting? Carousing with French girls? How could you act in such a way? I. Am. Disgusted." He swung again, striking his nephew in his stomach before jabbing a quick upper cut to the mans jaw. "I'll teach you to act like that. You're a Fitzwilliam, man!"

The crowd around the men was growing. The soldiers could not believe that two of their most decorated and respected officers were fighting like common street urchins. The Major-General glowed like an avenging angel and, with anger gradually seeping into the Colonel's gaze, he too was beginning to fight back. He sent a rather passable blow into his uncle's barrel-like chest, and causing him to stagger, just for a moment.

An enterprising soul at the back tried to start a book, but he could get no persons attention to place a bet, such was the astonishment of the sight.

Fighting like two gentleman now, the Major-Generals fury abated somewhat from the initial incandescent fury, and his nephews beaten look cast away, they stalked each other round a circle, jabbing, parrying, dancing back from each others blows. "What does it matter to you?" half-sobbed the Colonel over the baying of the men. "What can you do, ship me home? It is not like there is anything worth my going back for."

For a moment the Major-General seemed to gasp in disbelieved horror before throwing himself at his nephew so violently that his feet full left the ground and the two men landed, fighting and tussling with a thud, before rolling through the cheering crowd, bodies locked together, the Major-General still raining the Colonel with blows over the verge and down into the drainage ditch.

Here, covered with mud and frost and still grappling with his nephew exhaustedly, fists flailing wildly, the light in the Major-General's eyes seemed to dim a little as he spoke now, in a lonely voice, and finally released his nephew. "Why?" he simply asked, sitting back on his haunches, breathing heavy. "Why would you do such a thing? When in England . . . ?" he gave up with a sigh and placed his head in his hands.

Above him the officers had regained their wits and were sending off the men, grumbling and cursing back to their camps to pack up and move out. Silence reigned again for the two men, covering the frost-covered land like an icy shroud, all-consuming, muffling sounds and feelings.

Colonel Fitzwilliam gingerly touched a bleeding lip and sighed. "What do I have to go back for? Nothing a French harlot couldn't best let me tell you."

"Ungrateful bastard." An angry sob entered the Major-Generals voice. "You have _her _of course. You are young, handsome, wealthy, and well-connected and you have _her_. Men have killed for less."

"Ha!" the Colonel laughed bitterly. "I should have guessed you'd say that. Aunt De Bourgh's lapdog as ever. Never stand up to her. Just sit in the corner drinking yourself into a stupor."

"She wanted me to say a hell of a lot more to you. You should be grateful I'm being so supportive of your decision!" the Major-General huffed. "There'll be no more of this behaviour when you're married. In fact there had better not be any of this behaviour again ever."

"It's being condemned to a living death for me then, uncle. Would you be so callous?"

"I'll hit you again. I will!" The Major-General warned, clenching a muddy fist, as he rattled on, almost in tears. "Have you no respect. No honour? Making eyes at young ladies, courting them with notions of home and hearth and, when you have them, casting them aside or else taking them on like they are a burden and sowing your seed in whores and minx's whilst your marital bed remains barren. Is that what you want?"

The Colonel looked at the distressed man for a long moment before finally asking "What _are _you talking about?"

"What?"

"I'm talking about being condemned to a life as Anne's husband, and worse, Aunt De Burgh's son. I haven't been making eyes at young ladies! I only did what I did last night, to my great regret I may add, because I was just so drunk with distress that, well, that I stood no chance with another young lady of my acquaintance."

"No chance?" The Major-General repeated slowly. "Then you are not engaged?"

"Engaged!" the Colonel threw back his head and laughed. "Where did you get that idea from?"

"Um . . ." The Major-General was reeling. Not engaged? Then what? How?

"It's Maria Lucas I wish to marry. Such an angel on earth. The way she cared for me so gently, tended to my injury and looked after me so whilst we were all at Rosings. One day. That is all it took for her to win me. One day. One glance. One moment. I danced for her whilst lame, remember? I could do anything with her by my side. And her father _is _a Lord after all. I though something might be arranged."

"Miss Lucas? . . . But I thought─"

The Colonel ploughed on, regardless, "I went to Meryton to see her. To see if there was hope. I solicited her great friend, Miss Kitty Bennett to see if I had any. I asked her if she could tell me if I stood a chance, if my attentions would be accepted. 'Will you be truthful with me?' I begged. 'Has Miss Lucas indicated any preference for me?'"

"What did she say?" almost pleaded the Major-General, wistful at the thought of Kitty. "What were her words?".

"She said she had noticed no particular attachment to me on Miss Lucas's behalf and that she had never spoken of me to her with peculiar warmth. Not what I was hoping to hear at all. She urged me to seek out Miss Lucas and speak to her myself, but I could not. Not after Miss Mary Bennett's engagement to Miss Lucas's brother, Dr Reginald Lucas was announced. All was in uproar, she was otherwise engaged in defending her brother to her parents and, well, if she'd never shown any regard for me to her closest friend even? I felt it would be best if I were to leave the country altogether. To try to conquer my feelings so I might resign myself to marrying Anne instead, and at least making my family happy."

"Take it from me, young man." The Major-General smiled shakily, "Such noble concepts sound very pretty, but the heart will not be stayed. You cannot master such feelings. I should know . . ."

His nephew cut him off blindly. "But then who did you think I was talking about? If you did not know about Maria? I have never had any such intentions for any of the other young ladies of my acquaintance. Who did you mean, Uncle . . . ?"

The Major-General looked back at him, his newly awakened emotions surging through him, the numbness suddenly gone. He did not know whether to laugh or cry. All he knew was that he could suddenly breathe again. Feel alive again. Perhaps he still had a chance now. Perhaps. "Nephew . . ." he began . . .

**. . . To be continued.**


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Four: Pemberley

The war was over. Napoleon had been sent packing to Elba, and all of England was victorious. Not that Meryton had noticed. It seethed with entirely a different kind of fervour. The preparations for Mary's wedding to her Dr Lucas had consumed the neighbourhood.

All of the town's residents were camped on one side or the other. One claiming that Mary was, if not perhaps the most beautiful of her sisters, nor bestowed with the easiest of tempers, most certainly the ideal life partner of Reginald Lucas, a reserved academic soul who doted on his waspish lover, simply living to make her smile, and the other side certain that those Bennett girls were determined to secure every eligible man who ever came within a mile of the town and that it was a good thing that Kitty Bennett, rapidly gaining a reputation as a very standoffish girl indeed, was the only one remaining, and not likely to materially damage the marital prospects of any of the other eligible young ladies of the neighbourhood.

Lady Lucas, still horrified at her elder son's choice of mate, had been most unforgivingly ill-tempered since the announcement. Mrs Bennett, reminding her smugly that her own daughter, Charlotte, would be mistress of Longbourne one day, so it was only fitting that Mary should be mistress of Lucas Lodge too, made the situation so unbearably strained that the decision was taken to remove them all from the neighbourhood for a short while to allow time to salve the injury and enable both partiesto come to terms with the situation.

Elizabeth Darcy, with great eagerness, as she disliked being apart from the uproar for too long, had invited her parents, Mary and Kitty to join her and the Darcy's at Pemberley. As Jane was also to be there with her husband, Mr Bingley, it was to be somewhat of a family reunion. In an effort to keep the lovers together, she also extended the invitation to Dr Lucas and to his sister, Maria, of whom they were all very fond, and were delighted when the invitation was accepted.

Kitty did not mind being at Pemberley very much, after all, one place is as good as another if you are determined to be miserable, but as for the company, to be frank she was uncomfortable. Maria, her shadow as ever, was becoming ever more withdrawn. It disturbed Kitty that, as the stories of the war and the regiments had faded from the papers, Maria had become wraith-like with distress. Had she been wrong to dismiss Colonel Fitzwilliam's advances on Maria's behalf? Had Maria sought after information about Colonel Fitzwilliam the fevering way she herself had snatched at news of the Major-General? Had she done her friend the greatest disservice of all? Hence she was torn, torn between telling Maria everything, or keeping her peace and praying that she hadn't destroyed her closest friend's only hope of happiness.

Mrs Bennett was in her element at Pemberley. What with two superiorly matched daughters and another who would soon be entering that blessed state with a _titled _man no less, and what's more, a man who would assure the family's superiority of position over their long term rivals, the Lucas's, she was holding state and making as much fuss as she considered her due. The gentlemen of the party, allowing her to revel in her position as matriarch until such time as she could be safely deposited back into the bosom of Meryton society, spent much of their time out-of-doors, Mr Bennett even allowing himself to be lured from his habitual library sanctuary and thrust into the outdoor pursuits of shooting and fishing in the early spring warmth with the rest of the men.

One person who could not escape her mother's wrath though, was Kitty. The only daughter who still disappointed her mama, she had to stoically endure endless attempts from her mother to improve her. If she sat quietly she was scolded for being too quiet, if she joined the conversation she was chided for prattling away. Nothing she did could satisfy her mother and, quite honestly, she was far too low to care.

It had also, finally, gotten back to her family how she had behaved before Christmas at Rosings Park. Mr Collins had written one of his little gems to her father, stating that "whilst his dear cousins 'organic' behaviour fitted well within the limited confines of Meryton society, the society at Rosings Park and indeed in all arenas of true refinement required a certain amount of feminine gentility." It suggested that Mr Bennett exercise a little more caution in allowing his daughter to mix in exalted company without displaying the appropriate decorum and deference her lower status dictated appropriate and that, "whilst my exalted patroness, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, was the very embodiment of tact, even she had had cause to remark on Kitty's drunken exploits and wild clashes with a man who was not only her marked superior, but also a distinguished Major-General, the brother of an Earl and the uncle of Mrs Darcy's own highly regarded husband who might think less of my dear cousin Elizabeth should her sisters infamous behaviour become widely known."

After that, Mrs Bennett had had hysterics. Twice. And Kitty was send from the room in disgrace, only admitted much later that day after Elizabeth had pleaded for her and explained the situation in a light which better portrayed Kitty.

Mrs Bennett was all contrition after that: "My dearest Kitty," she kept saying, "To think I sent you into that house, where that old lecherous soldier kept making his plays for you, soliciting your company in such an inappropriate manner. All those walks with only a distant chaperone between you and your being shamed so grievously. I prostrate myself; I prostrate myself that I should have protected you, and you being so beautiful. Of course he wanted you. And that Lady De Bourgh practically encouraging him by making it all your fault. . . The nerve of that woman!"

In this way it seemed that Kitty had been vindicated. She hated it though. Every mention of the Major-General on her mothers lips in that tone, it made her shudder. She wished to shout out that he was a gentleman, that he was the most honourable soul she had ever known and that if she could go back to that time and that place, she would bury his face in her bosom and make him love her. Give herself to him for any price; one stolen kiss even would be sweet enough to her to justify the loss of her honour, aye, she would have bedded him for such a prize. But of course she couldn't go back. She couldn't change the past. She could only sit here, in a little cloud of misery whilst her precious memories were degraded in front of all those present along with the reputation of the man she esteemed the highest.

Locked in her depression, she hardly noticed when the uproar started. When the visitors came to call.

Ostensibly it was an official call on Mr and Mrs Darcy, but underlying that . . . All Kitty knew was that two men in military red were being shown into the room with awkward expressions abounding on every face and the atmosphere strained almost to bursting point.

And as for the men, one sheepish and the other glaring ferociously . . . Kitty stiffened and heard Maria gasp at her side. They had come to Pemberley. The Fitzwilliam's had come . . .

**. . . To be continued.**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Four: Pemberley (continued)

For a long moment nobody spoke. Finally Mr Darcy rose and with an uncharacteristically hearty laugh, for he liked his cousin and respected his uncle, he welcomed them and thanked them for taking him at his word that Pemberley would always be amenable to them. Mrs Darcy was the next, calling for the housekeeper so they might be fed and watered although dinner was shortly to be served, followed by Georgiana and one by one the rest of the party was introduced to the new arrivals.

Kitty saw that her mother, Mrs Bennett, was barely able to mask her horror upon meeting the Major-General. So torn was she between being appropriately obsequious to the wealthy war hero of so high a status, and demeaning herself by entertaining the company of a man who she had censured so abominably after his 'lecherous treatment' of her fourth daughter at Rosings, that she scarcely knew what to say. Finally she managed a breathless hello and a half, but only a half mind you, curtsey before retiring to the other end of the room to the windows, whose views offered a less confusing scenario than the alternative she had experienced hitherto.

Kitty burned with shame. She had done that. Blackened the name of a heroic patriot whose only sin was to be oblivious of her affection towards him, and give his own family cause to doubt his intentions.

Then, Kitty and Maria, sure their time had come, rose as one to greet the arrivals. Both smiled. Both curtseyed. But as the Fitzwilliam's were in the process of a lengthy introduction to Mary Bennett and her suitor, Dr Reginald Lucas, whom the Colonel hardly knew and the Major-General not at all, they were spared having to make conversation and retired to Mrs Bennett's windowed corner in the pretence of keeping her company. There they made a great fuss of her until it was time to change for dinner, and neither was quite able to meet the others eye.

Going in to dinner, Kitty could not help but remember those grand dinners at Rosings Park. What lively affairs they had been, for, although nobody spoke, save Lady De Bourgh, the Major-General had kept her for himself. He had taught her about war, joked with her in that gruff half-serious way of his, and had made her feel like the most precious jewel in the room. Here, although the conversation was a great deal more spirited, she felt dull and drab. Surrounded by couples who knew each other so intimately and shared so much of each others souls, she had never felt so plain and invisible. _"So this is what it is like to be an old maid"_, she thought forlornly. _"Wretched."_

Sat quietly between her father and Mr Bingley, both of whom maintained conversations on their other sides, she felt utterly censored. It was as if her sister was trying to prevent her from so much as talking to the Major-General, which indeed she probably was. Elizabeth could not know how much comfort even the sound of his voice would bring to her sister, or the chance to really look at him, to pour over every contour of his face and every dip and swell in his body with her ravenous eyes, to truly know deep in her soul that he had returned from France without injury or harm and that he was still whole. But she could have no such consolation as he was seated at the far end of the table, back from the pool of candlelight, and she could only see his hands, strong, gnarled and tanned, as they clasped his crystal goblet or deftly buttered morsels of bread to pop into the mouth that was bathed in shadows.

Across the table, Maria seemed in a similar state of frustration, sat up on the very edge of her chair, she leaned rather too far over as if seeking out a precious sight of her own. Kitty sighed and shook her head; there was another thing she'd ruined. There could be little doubt now that Maria was pining for a soldier of her own, and Kitty had as good as sent him away. She resolved to rectify that. It might break the bounds of propriety, but propriety be damned. Her friend, her closest friend, had the opportunity to be married to the very man she had set her heart on. What was more, he was amiable and handsome, young and virile. Everything a young lady should yearn for. _"Except me," _she thought wistfully, _"For I would be happiest with a man who was none of these things to anyone by myself. He would be my greatest treasure and my own precious secret."_

For a long moment she wanted him so badly that she nearly called his name. But no. That would not do at all. The last time she had been this close to him and had cried out for his attention so blatantly she had abused him, most abominably, to his face and it had wrecked all her chances of ever being noticed by him as a woman. If she was to do anything, it was to stand by and make certain that Maria got her Colonel whilst she remained a spinster, doting on the children of Maria and her sister Elizabeth, both of whom would bear beautiful Fitzwilliam's.

Thus resolved she pushed her chair back and, resolutely, stood to take her leave. At the same moment came the scraping sound of another chair being pushed back and then came an unearthly scream. Slicing through the atmosphere like a red hot poker through butter, it was followed by a crashing sound as a tray laden with food fell to the ground and spilled its load. There was a moment of deathly hush and then all was confusion.

"Thirteen!" cried the housekeeper, for it was Mrs Reynolds who had screamed so piercingly, clearly distressed and shaking her head at the assembled party, "Thirteen to dinner!"

A buzz of excited chatter ran through the guests as the butler went to comfort Mrs Reynolds and motioned a footman to clear away the debris. Such a scandal! It had not been known that Mrs Reynolds was so superstitious. But then three Darcy's, four Bennett's, and two each of the name Bingley, Lucas and Fitzwilliam did make up the party. There were indeed thirteen at the table. Of that there was no doubt.

Kitty felt herself go hot as every eye in the room turned to her, but then the gaze shifted, looking away to . . . to the Major-General. He was also standing, awkwardly caught between the dining table and his chair. Thirteen to dinner, and the first to rise would be the first to die. But who had risen first, herself or, or . . . the alternative did not bear thinking about.

Deeply distressed now but trying not to show it, she announced lightly to all assembled, "You don't believe in silly superstitions, do you?" before excusing herself and walking decorously out of the room. Fair-running back to her bedroom she then flung herself onto the bed and wept. She was not one for portents, but this on top of everything else that had gone wrong just overwhelmed her, and, for a few minutes she gave in to despair and rendered her heartache into her pillow.

When she had finally calmed herself down and her face returned to its normal colouring she returned to the sitting room. She could ill afford to waste her time, no matter how bad her own woes had become. She had to make amends for her ill-treatment of Maria. The gentlemen were still at the dining table drinking their port, so only the ladies were present. Kitty settled herself next to Maria and thought hard, still desperately seeking a way to rectify the harm she had inadvertently wrought on her closest friend's material chances of making a good marriage.

It was after eleven that the gentlemen finally joined the ladies. Even Mr Darcy looked a little red from too much wine and Dr Lucas was visibly intoxicated, obviously the combination of hard-drinking soldiers and stories of victory in France had led to a good too many toasts and his constitution was simply not used to imbibing such vast quantities of patriotism in one sitting.

Seeing Mrs Bennett keen to reclaim dominion over her husband, Mr Darcy took pity on Mr Bennett and kept him in conversation away from the ladies. Almost immediately the remaining men spurned the ladies and settled down to their own private game of cards. Scoffing at the idea of Whist, the gentleman chose to take up a hand of Poque, a game that was very popular with soldiers in particular, but that Kitty's limited social circle had never introduced her to before.

The Colonel and Major-General were masters of the game, highly skilled in the art of Bluff, and, despite herself, Kitty found herself drawn to the game. Following the plays and the dealings of the players, she became fascinated. It was not luck in itself, as with Whist, but the appearance of luck which led to a winning hand. This was a game she could play. This was a game she could win.

As the whey-faced pallor of Dr Lucas became more prominent over the course of several hands, he finally excused himself from the game to stagger to his bedroom and seek solace in sleep. Seeing the disappointed looked on the faces of the Fitzwilliam's and Mr Bingley, Kitty suddenly made a decision. Here she could make her amends. Now. Here she could wager it all. Wager it all and win. "Gentlemen?" she inquired, "Would you accept me as your fourth?" . . .

**. . . To be continued.**

A/N: Poque (French) or Pochen (Germany) were early forms of Poker which in itself developed from the Spanish game of Primero.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Four: Pemberley (continued)

Good breeding, at least that present in Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, came immediately to the fore and both men sprang to their feet to welcome Kitty, assuring her loudly that her presence was desired most strongly and that they would not have considered failing to extend an invitation had they been given the chance. The Major-General was less welcoming and seemed to glower at Kitty as he rose warily to face her. It seemed plain to her that he did not want her near him.

Blushing faintly, she felt her resolve rise in her anew; this was not about her mistakes or even his discomfort. This was her way of making things right for Maria and the Colonel and he would simply have to put up with her until she had.

She seated herself as graciously as she could, Charles Bingley leaping out to tuck her chair, and, reluctantly the Major-General finally shuffled the cards and dealt them out to the players, Miss Bennett included.

"Might I be permitted to assist you?" Mr Bingley, ever obsequious, reached out to pick up her cards.

"I hardly think that is in the spirit of the game." Kitty chided him, scooping up her own hand and holding them close to her face, she sorted them. "I am quite capable of controlling five cards, thank you." For a second she looked up and, just for a moment, caught the Major General's eye. There was a flicker on his face of something indescribable and then, inexplicably, she felt he was _proud _of her? She shook her head, no, that was impossible, and concentrated again on her cards.

It at least seemed like she had a fair hand. She laid her stake with something like confidence and was pleased to see the Colonel smile at her daring before adding his own token to the pot. The Major-General, scowling at his cards and determined to give nothing away, made his own stake and Mr Bingley followed with utter despair evident in his expressions. At least she wouldn't make the poorest show of the night.

The game began in earnest then. Kitty judged the Major-General to be her only real opponent. Mr Bingley was too poor a player and Colonel Fitzwilliam too gallant to challenge her. So she concentrated on him alone, staring him out as she gambled her tokens, sure that her hand was sufficient to warrant such lavish stakes. He stared back at her with his dark eyes, an indecipherable daring in his gaze. _"I will have you." _She thought to herself as that familiar fluttering began in her stomach, not sure whether she meant the game or something so unladylike that she could barely imagine how it would be.

Mr Bingley was the first to give in, followed by the Colonel, who, grinning, seemed to think this battle of wills between his bachelor uncle and the spinster Bennett warranted no assistance, particularly not from one who had only a low-ranking pair to his credit.

"You seem peculiarly confident." The Major-General eventually said as he tried to judge Miss Bennett's hand from her implacable expression.

"Indeed sir." She fought to stop the quaver in her voice as it finally seemed he had deemed to notice her again. "I have all the ingredients for success in the cards before me. Why should I not be confident?"

"Perhaps too confident. I have it from my beloved sister Catherine that playing cards is a _somewhat frivolous past time_."

Kitty flushed, remembering vividly being untimely ripped from a game of Whist at Rosings and consigned to reading Fordyce's Sermons in front of all of those assembled, "Well then," she recollected Lady De Bourgh's expressions well enough herself, "Perhaps the _frippery _of a young lady's mind is ideal for playing such frivolous games. Indeed, as both seem to be cast as low as each other, their common bond should definitely provide the only lady in such a game with a sound victory."

For a second the Major-General seemed to lose his gruff exterior, the hard features softening almost imperceptibly as he melted into something that might almost be considered tender, but then they hardened again as he rose the stake once more. "You say you consider yourself feminine to the point of fault, but then this game, as well as being frivolous, also concedes to logic. There are only so many combinations of cards and only so many expressions with which the participants may conceal the strengths or inadequacies of their hands. Therefore it must be said, that the strength of purpose and the order which characterises the mind of the male may also be a strength in this game. As such, that common bond might conceivably provide the only gentleman remaining in such a game with an advantage all his own."

"Now that I cannot refute, sir." Kitty narrowed her eyes as she pushed a substantial handful of her remaining tokens into the centre of the table, "But I'll wager that my feminine wiles can best your manly virtues on any day you care to name."

The Major-General, taken aback and a small smile beginning to shine under his gruff white beard, did something then that Kitty had longed for. Quite unmistakably, he settled back into his chair comfortably and he, well, he harrumphed. In that old amused way of him. It was nothing to anyone else in the room, but to her it was better than a thousand stolen kisses. He was himself again. Warm and sore-tempered and old, but he was accepting her again. At ease with her, in spite of her temper. She didn't dare to hope it signalled forgiveness, that may never be forthcoming and nor would she expect it to be, but to be friends, now that would be something that would suit her very well indeed. She smiled as he continued.

"Perhaps today ought to be that day, Miss Bennett," his dark eyes mocked her sudden content, "For to be sure that our little portent earlier surely numbers the days we may lock our respective merits in combat."

Kitty felt a flash of anger. Here they were, getting along so well and then he had to remind her of the scenes at dinner. Thirteen to dinner. As if he or she might be marked for death after such a trivial and false notion. "I'll have you know sir, that all women are not so prone to such ridiculous superstitions as Mrs Reynolds. Indeed, some of us might even be described as nearly as sensible as the most insensible of men!" Looking at him with such a set to her face, it was obvious she was attacking him, calling him insensible even, a war hero, a gentleman, her better.

He shook his head, his jowls agitating furiously. "I was merely pointing it out, Miss Bennett to assure you that as your senior and as very much a gentleman, I am bound to take the gallant step of dying first."

"If you think that reassures me," her temper was heating up now, "Then let me share in such comfort for you. Let me say that I will follow where you lead, whether that be into a game of cards you cannot conceivably best me in, or past Cerberus into the very depths of hell! I do not scare so easily as to bow down to glorious statements of apparent honour that have no worth in any material sense whatsoever. A person has no choice in when they die. You cannot be rid of such noble obligations, like that of a gentleman to a lady, simply by deciding to embrace death. Death is only the beginning, as Mr Collins will insist on reminding everybody daily, and as such, offers of gallantry are not required nor worthy of wasting your breath!"

As she stopped to take a breath herself, she suddenly noticed that all around her was silence. So involved was she in her sparring with the Major-General, an act that inflamed her beyond the scope of her five earthly senses, that she had been unaware of their voices rising. All the room was grouped around the table, watching the proceedings with varying degrees of interest.

Her sister Elizabeth was perhaps the most vexed looking, seeing as her sister and the Major-General could not seem to remain in the same room without inflaming into another meaningless argument, and her father the most amused. Her mother was quietly on the brink of hysterics yet again and Colonel Fitzwilliam looked decidedly pleased with the show. It was Maria though that seemed to suddenly see her for what she was. She looked at Kitty with such amazed understanding that she knew in an instant that Maria had learnt her secret, learnt it and, with the bitter experience of her own ruined hopes, understood. Before her Kitty felt exposed, naked even, and ashamed. Now Maria knew her heart it was imperative that Kitty mend Maria's prospects with all due haste. Anything rather than her truest friend realising the betrayal Kitty had perpetrated on her. Anything rather than receive Maria's consolations when she herself had ruined all her hopes.

It was Colonel Fitzwilliam who broke the silence. "Are you not going to make your stake?" he reminded her gently of her turn.

"Aye." Suddenly cold she pushed more tokens into the centre of the table and, letting go, continued, "And I will see his cards."

There was another silence as both players put their cards down, followed by excited murmurs as it was seen that Kitty had won. He had nothing. The Major-General had nothing that could match her, but the winning left her empty inside.

The assembled company seemed to develop a taste for Poque after that, all watching the game and spying on the players cards. Kitty lost hands more than once after Maria or Georgiana forgot themselves and commiserated with her over the dealer's inexactitude when sharing out the trumps.

It was indeed past midnight when Kitty finally seized her advantage. The guests had excused themselves one by one despite their interest, and by now only Maria remained, stood behind Kitty loyally ensuring that she could continue to play for as long as she wished and not be forced to excuse herself for want of a chaperone.

Mr Bingley was all undone and had taken the opportunity to seek out some sustenance from the dining room, and the Major-General had briefly excused himself from the game, no doubt to make more room for his next glass of claret. The Colonel had had a spate of poor hands and was down to his last few tokens. She could see he wished to remain in the game though, his hand was clearly good (judging by the way he bit his lip so obviously when he was keen to remain in play) but he had not the tokens to meet the required stake.

"It seems, like my new friend Bingley, the end has come for me." He gestured to his hand resignedly, "I believe I must fold."

"Perhaps." She said, an idea forming in her head, "Or perhaps you might meet my bet with something else that is worthy of the stake."

"Pray tell me what you suggest and I shall endeavour to satisfy," smiled the Colonel, "For it is not in my nature to run away from the fight."

She grinned and surged ahead. What was it that Mary was always saying? Ah yes, "Well does it not say in the Apocrypha that 'Great is truth, and mighty above all things'?"

"Aye." The Colonel looked amused as he nodded his assent.

"So would you give me truth, in lieu of tokens?"

The Colonel laughed, "But indeed that might be your undoing, for does it not also say in the very same Apocrypha that 'Women are strongest: but above all things Truth beareth away the victory'?"

"If it does sir, and I will not claim to be all-knowing where the Good Book is concerned, then surely that is all the incentive you might need to remain in the game. Make your stake, sir?"

"What will you have me tell?" He looked to her with his merry eyes, and seeing something determined in her own eyes, suddenly wondered whether he might have come too daringly under her power.

"Perhaps your favourite memory, sir."

"And that is a stake I can make with all my heart. Indeed it was the look on my dear aunt's face when we were all dancing together at Rosings Park last autumn. Never had I felt so elated whilst under such dreadful reprove. Indeed perhaps a little silliness befits a man as well as a lady. In moderation."

Kitty smiled at his answer and met the stake again.

"And for mine?" he asked her again.

"Perhaps you might explain before the assemblage why you came to Meryton at Christmas?"

"Well," he fingered his collar almost unconsciously, and cleared his throat, "I came simply to call on my friends before braving the continent, where I fought hand-and-tooth in pitched battles to beat the valiant Frenchman at his own gam─."

"I believe," Kitty interjected quickly, "That the war was practically over by the time you returned to the fray and that chasing a few French peasants with the flat of your blade on your way to Paris does not count as pitched battles. Why did you come to Meryton? And before you answer, remember that I _know_."

Behind her, Maria tensed, she had had no idea that there had been another reason behind the Colonel's brief visit at Christmas. Kitty could see that the Colonel's gaze, so heavily on her a moment ago was now steady on Maria. She could see the words just hovering on his lips and she pushed once more.

"Tell her, Colonel."

And he gave in, laying down his cards in submission. "Miss Lucas, I─ I─ I have been deceiving you for too long. Since our happy meeting in Rosings under the less than sympathetic eyes of my aunt, I have been unable to dismiss you from my mind. You are, to me, the most agreeable and beauteous woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Your gentility, and your gentleness, is flawless. Never have I flourished so than when under your ministrations. You healed me. I came to Meryton to see you again, to see if my feelings were fondly imagined and with no real substance. I found however that they were realer than I could ever have dreamed. Seeing you, sitting with you, such simple things but they suddenly meant so much. Every moment was precious for me. But," he looked down briefly, meeting Kitty's eye and then, deciding not to involve her in the story, he checked his words, "I could not voice my─ my─ desires. Not on my way to war. I might never have returned."

Maria seemed frozen still, her lips slightly parted and her eyes fixed on the Colonel almost frightened. Kitty was sure she was shaking.

"I am saying that I love you." he finally said with a sob in his voice. "I love you after only three full days together. Can you imagine how much my love might grow over the course of a lifetime?" He pushed his chair out and then, going down onto one knee, he knelt before his lady.

Maria gasped and clasped her hands together in relief.

"Will you marry me, Miss Lucas?"

Bursting into tears then, she sobbed, "Yee─s. Of course. Yes!" And then, her knees collapsing under her, she plunged to the floor where he caught her up in his arms and held her to him, still sobbing with happiness and the release of all those pent up emotions of the past few months.

Kitty sighed with contentment of her own, her burden finally lifted and then, as the newly engaged couple rose to their feet and tried to regain their composure and hide the happy smiles on their faces, she smiled back, replete. There was no hiding their radiance though, and as Mr Bingley and the Major-General came together through the door, there was not a little curiosity in the gaze they met the three with.

Miss Bennett was not in the mood to waste time with nicetiesnow, however. She had made things right for her friend, and now perhaps she might attack her own demons. "Last hand of the night sir?" she issued a challenge directly to her Major-General, determined that tonight would see her make her stand. "Winner takes all?"

**. . . To be continued.**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Four: Pemberley (continued)

The Major-General, steel in his gaze, nodded his acquiescence to Kitty, whose insides were churning with turmoil at her own daring, and finally gestured to the table. They sat down on opposite sides, their eyes locked on each other, their attention unwavering and their intent pure. This was to be a game pitched at the highest stake, that of honour.

Picking up the cards, the Major-General began to shuffle them deliberately, still looking at Kitty intently, determined to show her no weakness. Similarly she stayed silent, all seriousness. The stakes were too high to consider this a game any more.

The spectators, the Colonel surreptitiously brushing the back of his hand against Maria's, and Mr Bingley, nervously biting his lip, stood fascinated at the sight. A formidable soldier of age and gravitas and this pretty young upstart, both seemingly unassailable. Stubbornness evolved to ultimate perfection. There was no telling how this would finish and all wished to witness the meeting of minds that was now on show before them.

The cards were dealt and the room held its breath.

The Major-General picked up his hand and tried to contain his expression. It was good.

Kitty picked up her hand and fought to keep her countenance. Oh, it was good.

"Will you lay your stake, madam?" the Major-General offered her the advantage.

Kitty eyed the pile of tokens in front of her, it was large. As large as the Major-Generals, for the tokens of the Colonel and Mr Bingley had been won and divvied fairly with great equanimity between the victors of the evening's revels. But it would not do.

"Perhaps betting with tokens will prove little in this instance." she stated matter of factly, determined not to mince her words for fear of being labelled rude by some social code she had had no part of forming. "Do you not think that a process of laying stakes is little more than marking time in this instance? It is late, after all."

"Indeed it is early madam. And I sense your eagerness to complete the game."

"No sir, to win it."

She was wide-eyed and confident. Her chin thrust out proudly as her eyes bored into his. Indomitable. She wanted to take him down a peg. The Major-General swallowed his desire and sent it into the deep again, then, narrowing his eyes he sought to test her resolve.

"Even in your confidence you betray weakness. The very assurance in itself belays the truth of your hand. Either you genuinely believe you have an unbeatable combination of cards, unlikely upon the random dealing of merely five cards to your hand. Or you are trying to bluff. We have seen enough evidence here tonight to know you more than capable of that, and so the logical step must be made. The worse your hand the harder you must bluff. Therefore I must come to the conclusion that your hand inversely reflects your confidence. You have nothing. Therefore I have nothing to fear." He leant forward, his body closing over his cards as he loomed at her. "We are fighting for honour here. Winner takes all, as you said. Shall we stake something with meaning?"

Kitty leaned forward in response, her bodice brushing the table and threatening to spill all her assets, and challenged him back. "You cannot best me. Not here, away from your battalions and your armoury. I will wager whatever you care to name that my cards are better than yours."

"Then I will have your handkerchief." he tested her, a wry twist to his mouth as he sought to judge her reaction. "And when I win it I shall hang it from my horses bridle when I ride to war. To make it known to the enemy by no uncertain terms, that I have vanquished the French but also the formidable Miss Kitty Bennett, a quarry of far greater wit and wiles and therefore more worth the chase."

Maria gasped at this, but Kitty did not flinch. "I will take your bet and make one of my own." she tantalized him. "I will have something of yours, just as personal, when I win. But as a lady I am entitled to a little more circumspection and will not name the precise stipulations of the bet. Will you accept those terms?"

"To place myself under such an obligation?"

"A _lady's_ obligation." she reminded him forcibly.

"Yes Uncle." The Colonel, a look of amusement etched across his every feature, cut in here in Miss Bennett's defence, "Surely you cannot require a lady to make such an admission?"

"An admission I would have to abide by?" The Major-General harrumphed discontentedly, "Surely not a fair bet."

"But a bet nonetheless." Kitty regarded him, "Will you take it sir?"

The Major-General looked around the room for assistance. But the Colonel and Maria, Kitty's staunchest allies offered none, and Mr Bingley simply blushed in sympathy, not wanting to speak out against one of his new sisters lest he offend his beloved wife, Jane.

"Right then." He sat up stiffly in his chair. "I see where this is going. Fair enough, I cannot sway you. I accept your bet, Miss Bennett. I place myself in your thrall, god help me. I will take your forfeit if you will abide by mine."

"Aye sir, I will." she swore to him and offered her hand to shake. The Major-General hesitated and then took it, the strength evident in the clasp of his rough weathered hand almost enough to make her swoon. Collecting herself, she withdrew her hand and finally ordered him imperiously. "Now show me your cards."

"Ladies first." He nodded to her own hand. "Show me what you place your unshakeable confidence in, and then I shall see if I can best it."

Looking supremely certain, Kitty laid her cards deliberately on the table before him. A nine, a nine, a nine, a ten and a ten. "I believe it is what they call a Full House." she smiled indulgently, "And if you can beat that sir, you are welcome to my handkerchief."

The Major-General met her eyes, clear and brave, and quivered inside. He could suffer under her ministrations it was true, but he could not stand against her. He could not take her honour from her. It was what made her great.

Looking once more at his own cards, he noted the profusion of clubs; the ten, the jack, the queen, the king and the ace, his Royal Flush in all its glory, his truly unbeatable hand, and with great ceremony he laid them face down on the table so they might never tell their worth. "Aye my lady, I cannot best your hand. I am at your mercy." He bowed his head in submission. "Be kind."

Kitty laughed in sheer delight, clapping her hands together and accepting the congratulations of her audience with grace before turning back to him. "Did I not tell you I would win?" she teased.

"Aye you did, young pup." He waited for his forfeit to come but she continued just the same.

"And is it not true that a young lady has beaten an old man at his own game?"

"Aye." A coldness seemed to settle over him at the use of those words. _Old man_. How they cut him. How they stripped away his hopes.

"And will you now have to pay your dues?"

"If you do not tell me what they are, I cannot pay them." His voice sounded remote, as if it came from far away. _Old man_, she had said. _Old man_.

"Then," she said sportively, "I will have my winnings, sir. In fact, I shall have your beard!"

There was a gasp Kitty was sure came from Maria, and then the protestations began:

"Surely you cannot be serious, Miss Bennett," interjected Mr Bingley. "Major-General Fitzwilliam is a gentlemen and your elder. You cannot ask him to shave off his beard─."

and

"Miss Bennett. My uncle is a leader of men; surely you would not deprive a peacock of his feathers? It would undermine his authority with the ranks─."

and

"Kitty, it is a bit, um, well, you really shouldn't." Maria was more kind and tried to whisper, "I mean I know that, well, um, about you, but even so."

Kitty leapt in to hush her friend and, battered by reprove from all sides, she hung her head. "Well perhaps I─."

"Fetch my razor." The Major-General cut her off, calling to one of the footmen and ending the debate. "My shaving kit and hot water in a basin."

"Surely you jest, Uncle?" Colonel Fitzwilliam looked amazed.

"Not at all." The Major-General gave Kitty a penetrating look. "I have lost a bet. As a gentleman I must pay what I owe."

"But your beard, uncle. The bet is unfair."

"The bet is sound, and," he even managed a chuckle, "Even though it seems like I was born with my beard, let me assure you that these whiskers may be removed with little or no inconvenience to myself. I have been taken down a peg by a redoubtable foe. Surely there is no shame in that." He stroked the white hair on his face with something akin to nostalgia and sighed. "No shame at all."

And as the footman rushed in with a basin and the Major-Generals own shaving kit, the sounds of surprise were replaced by the regular rasping of a naked blade against flesh. An audience clustered around the man and he cursed under his breath, "Haven't you ever seen a fellow shave before?"

Finally he carefully towelled his face off and, with great ceremony, stood up to reveal his face to his lady. "Well Miss Bennett, will I do?"

She gasped, taking a step back in surprise. No! Without that snowy beard . . . with that chestnut hair and those dark brown eyes . . .

Before he had looked every inch of his forty two years and a good dozen more for good measure. But now. Now he looked young. Handsome. Vigorous. All the time he had been a man of, well, of, a man. He was a man. He was her man. She wanted to run to him, to kiss every inch of his newly pink face, stroke his hair and fit her body against his. But through all of this she kept her countenance. She remained a lady despite her thoughts. Yet she could no longer hide her feelings. Not to him. Not to this man of men. Bubbling to the surface they suddenly seemed so plain to her. Her gaze locked onto his and she found herself lost in him.

The Major-General saw her glee and then her surprise and then her gaze had fallen upon him in the strangest most wondering way and it was like he himself was falling. He made the smallest sound as his own desire burgeoned within him and threatened to well out of him, but choked it down. It could not be. She could not want an old man. No matter what she thought.

Seeing everyone's eyes on him now, he began to back away. "I─ I really should retire. It is far too late to be carousing like this in someone else's house." He tore his eyes from Kitty's with something like finality. "It is far too late." he repeated to himself sadly. "Good night." And with that, brusquely, he took his leave.

Kitty hung her head as he left the room so decidedly. _"He will not be back." _she thought. . .

**. . . To be continued.**

A/N: I just heard that I received the Austen Award for 'Most Historically Accurate Story', and I would like to thank those who voted for me, and everyone who voted in general. This is a great fandom and it's really nice to know everyone's work and research is appreciated. Thank you.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Five: Pemberley, Longbourne and Rosings again

Kitty looked tired and drawn the next day. She had barely slept; the game of cards had gone on so long, and then, after the Major-General's abrupt quitting of the room and her own desires being made so plain to him, she had simply sat up in her room, brushing out her hair to the light of her single candle, thinking desperately for something she might do to make him stay. If there was a solution it was not to be found and she had fallen into bed at some ungodly hour, only to be awoken by the sound of horse's hooves just past dawn. It was all the farewell she had any right to expect, she supposed.

But she wished the Major-General had stayed longer. Until breakfast perhaps, where she might look upon him, newly shorn, in daylight. But then that would not have done either. She was infamous enough for her behaviour at Rosings; for it to be known to the general assembly that she had demanded he shave his beard as well! Fie! Mama would have a fit and she would like as not be refused permission to ever speak to a gentleman again, not that she had any intention to, if she could not speak to the one gentleman who held, in her estimation, the perfect balance of all true gentlemanly traits.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was entirely a different prospect. His farewell to dear Maria was so protracted as to be considered a chaperonable event. Not that any persons present apart from Kitty knew there to be any connection between them. The Colonel, riding off to seek Lord Lucas's permission and his own fathers views on the subject (not that they would have altered his intentions a mite), made excuses in the vein of following his uncle on the important military business that was so urgent it had taken him away before the house had generally risen. He finally left around lunchtime, leaving only Mr Bingley aware of the wager the night before. Kitty believed that the Colonel might have had a brief word with him though, as he betrayed nothing of the excesses of the night before and only vaguely answered in the affirmative when questioned if Miss Bennett had found ultimate success.

Kitty avoided Maria entirely. It would be unfair for her to receive Maria's sympathies when she should be sharing her private joy. She simply sat, and wondered and let time and the world pass her by, until the visit was duly ended and the Bennett's and Lucas's bade their farewells and returned to Hertfordshire.

Back at Longbourne, Kitty scarcely had time to think of Pemberley. Mary's wedding was drawing near, and the announcement of Maria's betrothal to Colonel Fitzwilliam was finally made publicly, causing much rejoicing in the Lucas household and much vexation to Mrs Bennett.

"Kitty, I am so disappointed in you. You sit and you sew and you never speak two words together these days. Even Mary has found herself a good husband, but you! And you a great favourite of the Colonel! Mr Collins told me that you danced with him at Rosings, and he sought you out when he came to Meryton to speak with you. Even at the Darcy's, no other person would do but you to complete his game of cards, and you throw it all away! I do not understand!"

"But, Mama!" Kitty always protested, "The Colonel also danced with Maria at Rosings, and when he came to Meryton it was to ask me if she was amenable to him. And Poque. Well, I offered to play, he did not ask me."

"As if any daughter of mine would behave so disgracefully forward!" she would always huffily retort and ignore her one remaining child until she could no longer keep her aggravation to herself anymore.

Kitty bore it cheerfully though. She was to be bridesmaid to both her sister and her friend, as she had been at the wedding of her eldest sisters, and had more than enough to keep her busy. For this she had her father to be thankful for though, as Mrs Bennett had reacted with horror at the suggestion, "Kitty to be three times a bridesmaid? Oh my poor nerves cannot stand it! No! I will not have her cursed a spinster for the sake of holding the train of that ungrateful Lucas girl who stole her only chance of a husband. She cannot be bridesmaid for Maria Lucas!"

"Well," put in Kitty, for she refused to give up the honour after ensuring the Colonel had proposed to Maria in the first instance, "If you are that beholding to superstition, I am to die soon anyway as the first to rise from a table of thirteen! And I'd as sooner die a spinster who had been three times a bridesmaid than one who had only been one twice!"

At this the argument could have gone on all day. Mr Bennett had made it right though. He had simply pointed out to Mrs Bennett that Kitty being a bridesmaid would place her squarely in the middle of all the attention at the church, and if Mrs Bennett would ensure Kitty's dress was attractive and showed off her figure to best advantage, he was sure that some attention was bound to come her way.

But through all of this, Kitty could not help wonder what had become of the Major-General. Was he abroad again? At war? Facing some god awful horror in a heathen's lair . . .

. . . "─And Mrs Fforbes said to me, Lady De Bourgh, you are the bastion of English refinement! Now I know I am, like all gentlewomen, trained in the feminine arts; those of style, manners and grace, but taste, now taste cannot be learned."

The Major-General stifled a yawn as Mrs Jenkins, standing in as it were for Mr Collins's own peculiar brand of flattery, as he and his wife were in Meryton visiting for the duration of Mary and Reginald's wedding, put in her opinion.

"Indeed, and good taste to you madam, is as innate as beauty is to the Lady Britannia, with all the dignity that such a position ingrains." She was doing very well at her fawning indeed.

Surely war was preferable to this. He scratched his chin with a rasp. Damn it. Needed a shave again. More trouble than it was blasted worth. He didn't know why he had let that young girl get the better of him. . . But then he did know. He would cut off his own hand, never mind his beard, if she were to ask. His head even. But then his thoughts betrayed him. He saw her again, stood before him with love in her eyes and a promise to her lips. Loving him. Wanting him. No!

He shook his head to clear it of the image, and pushed himself up, staggering towards the door. He'd drunk too much again. Much too much. His reputation as a drinker, well, that was established. But as a blind drunk, as he had been these past weeks, now that was new and, as far as he could tell from the reactions of his sister's guests, entirely inappropriate and unwelcome.

He clutched at the door handle seeking to release him to some quieter hell, but even as his hand curled reassuringly around the handle, his sister's conversation took another unexpected turn.

"Taste of course is entirely individual. Sometimes I want to weep at night when I see how good taste has passed by the males in my family in the most important respect."

Mrs Jenkins, doing a surprisingly good impression of Mr Collins in spite of her nervousness, was all obsequiousness, "Pray tell me madam, for I see no flaw in any of the illustrious persons of your distinguished bloodline."

"It is the Bennett's." she spat. "They have been the cause of all this."

The Major-General froze and, as she continued, he released his hold on the door handle and retraced his steps back to his vacated seat. There, he sat back down meekly, trying to hear Mrs Jenkin's response over the hammering of his heart.

"Indeed, madam. How so?"

"Temptresses!" she cried, impassioned, "Temptresses all! Scheming, and yes, I feel strongly enough to call it scheming, minxes. They come into the homes of their superiors and grossly abuse the hospitality offered to them. My own nephew, Darcy, taken from his rightful bride! And my dear Colonel Fitzwilliam, so gentlemanly, so proper."

"But is he not to marry Miss Lucas?" put in Mrs Jenkins, timidly.

"Ah, but it was Miss Kitty Bennett who orchestrated it. After all, has her sister Mary not got her claws into Doctor Lucas who will _inherit _Lucas Lodge and all its lands and thus _control _poor Miss Lucas if she remains unmarried by the time he inherits? Make no mistake; I do not hold the Lucas's to blame. Poor Maria was a good girl, like her sister Mrs Collins she knew her place, until Miss Bennett got her claws into her."

The Major-General felt his hackles rising. How _dare _she! How dare she abuse Kitty so abominably like this? If she were one of his men he'd have her taken out and horse-whipped! For sure, Kitty's younger sister had gained a reputation of sorts, but that had been well-earned. No. He could not let this lie.

"I believe," he interjected, causing his sister to near jump out of her over-stuffed seat at the sound of his voice, angry, barely controlled, "That all but the youngest Bennett daughter are considered ladies of the highest standards by all who have met them."

"Standards! Oh yes. In plotting perhaps. Scheming for money, power, and good blood."

"If you wish to talk about standards, how about the highest standard of all?" He dragged himself up, the alcoholic haze fading under the sheer power of his rage, and moved menacingly towards her. "You sit here being pampered and hold court over all the world. You judge and you lament from your rightful position at the pinnacle of all you survey. You never once stop to think that people like the Bennett's are superior to us!"

"How on earth could they ever be superior to us, brother. To me?"

"Because all of them, every single Bennett without exception, has chosen a higher path. Over money, over power and over good blood. Every one of them has chosen love. Love. That corner stone of the blessed union of marriage, the most basic human right of all, and a luxury that you would deny every single one of us. The so-called blessed! Their betters? We're not fit to lick their boots!"

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, indignation beating into his back from his enraged sister. What a fool! What a ridiculous fool! He had seen love. Had felt love and he had run away from it. Like his sister he had retreated to an overheated room and a stuffy position in society, hiding behind anabsurdbeard to age him, and whilst she talked herself into feeling correct to the point of derision, he had drunk himself into his own form of numbness. It was a living death.

Fair running now towards the stables, he shouted at the boy to saddle his horse. Fifty miles. Even with hard riding he wouldn't reach Hertfordshire until the early hours of tomorrow morning. He didn't care though. Dawn or dusk, he would say his peace. His sister was a fool, but so had he been. There could be no more excuses, no more bluff. He must show his cards, risk allhis stake, and to hell with it!

He had been right to suggest to the Colonel that they visit Pemberley on their return to the country. He had just allowed his pride and his fears about his age to get in the way and ruin his chances with Miss Bennett. But it could not remain like that. He was married to her in every way but in eyes of God. He could not worry about being able to fulfil his role as a husband for he was already bound to her. He could only live every day for her and hope that that was enough. And now he had the strength to do so.

Thirteen for dinner! He almost laughed as he mounted his horse and kicked it into a gallop. Poor Mrs Reynolds. He had mocked her, but she was right. The first to rise was the first to die, and he had been dying every day without his magnificent Kitty. He could only hope that she still felt the same way about him. . .

**. . . To be continued.**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: Jane Austen's estate owns the characters and settings of this story, apart from those original to the author or with historical basis. The story itself belongs to the author and no profit is being made from it.

**War and Lace . . . Continued**

Act Six: Longbourne . . . Finally

The first thing Kitty noticed was the persistent 'tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .' on her window pane. She rolled over in bed, pulling her long tangled hair out from under her head with a sigh, and tried to go back to sleep.

'Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .' This was worse than sharing a room with Lydia. What was it? An owl? A tree branch? She pulled her pillow up and pressed it against her ears.

'Tap . . . tap . . .TAP!' With a snarl, Kitty pulled herself out of bed and stormed to the window, dragging aside the curtains in the darkened room, and peering out. No wind. The tree outside her window was still, and there was nothing on her windowsill. But looking out and looking down, she saw something. A movement. And then the moon came out from behind a cloud and there he was. Bathed in an iridescent glow. Eerie and white. Her Major-General, his hand frozen in the act of throwing another pebble. Waiting for her. Looking up for her. He had come. For her.

Clutching her hands to the embroidery at the collar of her nightgown, she suddenly felt naked beneath his scrutiny and frantically tried to comb out her long hair with her fingers. How had he known this was her room? And then she saw. Her handkerchief. The one he had asked for his prize during the Poque game, so long ago. She had hung it from her window frame. Wistful thinking perhaps, a damsel waiting to present a token to her knight, but it had worked, he had come. And he was smiling.

She raced out of the room, her bare feet making no sound on the plush carpeting as she pounded down the stairs. He had come! Her white nightgown billowed around her as she rounded the corner and slammed into the east side door. And then, fiddling frantically with the lock, she tore it open, shot the bolt back and pulled open the door. Shivering at the cold early-spring temperatures, she went out questing, searching for that reassurance that he was still there.

And there he was.

Standing. Proud. Slightly hesitant as he shifted his weight backwards. He wasn't sure of her. Not certain she wanted him too. Oh god how she wanted him.

Meeting his eyes, she saw the pleading in them and, with the slightest smile, she reassured him of her intentions. And that was all he needed.

She went to him and they embraced, his strong arms holding her stiffly against him and then, more sure, relaxing into her. She felt the slight bristles on his chin brush the side of her face as warmth suffused her entire body, and she turned to look at him.

"Miss Bennett." he said, searching her face with his brown eyes, drinking it in. "Kitty. I _do _love you."

"And I love you, John." she smiled then at the sound of his name. A true smile that lit up her face and threatened to outshine the moon.

And then he kissed her. And then she kissed him.

When they finally separated, some minutes later, the Major-General, breathing hard, asked his question. "Kitty. Will you─ Stop giggling!"

"I'm sorry." She grinned, cupping his chin with her hands and feeling the bristles rasp under her fingers. "You tickle."

"Now, now my girl, when I was stationed in Egypt way back at the turn of the century," he began, a scold in his voice, and then broke into a roguish smile of his own, "My soldiers used to say exactly the same about me!"

"John!" Kitty broke into a peal of laughter, not even attempting to keep quiet in the jubilation of that midnight estate. "I sincerely hope you've been keeping all your kisses for me."

"All my life long." he reassured her softly, "Never have I even considered another woman. Never has one come close to my ideal. Not in mind or spirit or body. Except you, Miss Bennett. My handful. My challenge. My impossible perfection." And taking her hands in his, he sank to the floor, cursing a little at the creaking in his travel-weary joints as he did so, and looked up at her. "Now Miss Bennett, my beautifully imperfect perfection, will you make an old warhorse happy? Will you be my equal, Kitty? My wife?"

"No." she shook her head and sank down beside him, taking her hands back and wrapping them protectively around him again, as he started back in horror. "I will not. I will not be the wife of an old warhorse," but then she reassured him. "I will be the wife of a man. A real man. A vigorous soldier. A perfect gentleman. And _my _imperfect perfection. I will be the wife of you. And it will make me so proud."

And then he kissed her again for a long time. Removing his cloak and wrapping it around her prone body for warmth as they stayed there in the grounds, on display for all to see but none to witness, lost in each other and the all encompassing strength of their love.

As they broke apart one final time, he said "Good night," not really wanting it. Not wishing it so, but feeling it to be proper. But she would not let him go so easily.

"Yes." she replied, meeting his eyes in that forthright way of hers and seeming to will her words into his very soul. "It will be a _very_ good night." It was her choice, her invitation and her instruction, and he had not the power within him to refuse her anything.

At first tentatively, and then with growing passion, they gave in to each other. Shared in each other. Finally whole. Finally one. Underneath that luminescent moon. In full view of the world with no embarrassment, no apology, they bared their souls and then their bodies on that wintry night, as he took her and gave himself, tenderly and reverently and with increasing passion and wild abandon against the east side door.

When Lady Catherine De Bourgh found out about their engagement, there was no way of consoling her, nothing anybody to say to make it right. And whilst all others about them realised, once they had gotten over their initial surprise, what a perfect match the soldier and the silly girl made, and ignored with impunity the undue alacrity with which their first son was born into the world, she would make no such concession herself.

It was the Bennett disease. Yet again bringing her family low. And it was impossible and frustrating all at the same time. After all, how now could her dear Anne ever possibly find a husband of her own now? It was her lot in life for her family to be brought low by Longbourne, but then there were no Bennett sons.

**The End.**


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